Escape
by Kaisa
Summary: The Winchesters are in the hospital, and right when Dean's about to wake up from a coma, John leaves. And that's just the beginning... takes place after DT, Deancentric
1. Chapter 1

Okay, kiddies, this is the first chapter of Escape. It takes place after Devil's Trap. Okay, I know most of you might just be SICK of these kinds of "what happened next?" stories, especially since the premiere is only a mere 1 day, 2 hours and 41 minutes away (that's for here anywayz), but I started writing this a while ago. I'm not finished, and I've only just begun to rewrite parts... and...umm...

There aren't any spoilers whatsoever. If anything seems like a spoiler (if you've read them), they don't mean to be. I've never read a spoiler in my life, and I don't want to start now!

This first chapter is only the prologue, but I can have the next part up by tomorrow at the earliest, definitely before the premiere. I guess it depends on how much feedback I get...

I don't own Supernatural. If I did... Well... We all have dreams...

Okay, let's go._

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-Prologue-

Sam found himself walking in an almost empty parking lot. The only thing he could see was his brother, and his brother's beloved Impala.

Dean looked angry, and said words that Sam couldn't make out. He got the feeling that it was important, but he just couldn't hear the words. It was dead silence, like a movie on mute. Dean kept saying things, the angry expression still playing across his face, and Sam could feel his lips moving as well, but he couldn't even figure out what he was saying himself. He didn't even know what he was feeling. But there was something in Dean's eyes…something that Sam just couldn't figure out…

Dean ran a hand through his hair and turned his back on Sam. His shoulders heaved, as if he were taking a deep breath. He glanced over his shoulder and his mouth moved again. And again, Sam missed what his brother had said completely. Dean opened the door to the Impala, sat in the driver's seat, and slammed the door behind him. And then, the scene abruptly contorted itself, as if some great force was ripping in apart.

* * *

Sam blinked open his eyes to find himself back at the hospital, sitting in an uncomfortable chair beside a bed. He must have fallen asleep… But that wasn't a dream he had—he _knew_ it had to be a vision. He could tell by the way it had felt. His eyes widened as he smiled down at the hospital bed nearby. Dean lay there, in a coma—but if Sam's vision was right, Dean was going to make it. And seeing how Sam knew all his visions came true, he was suddenly a very happy brother.

He hopped out of his seat, ignoring his sore body's protests. "Keep on fighting, Dean, you'll make it." And with renewed hope, Sam trotted off to his father's room.

After the car crash, all three Winchesters were injured. Sam got off easy, but he could definitely say differently for John and Dean. The doctors had eventually said that John was going to make it, and of that, they were one hundred percent sure. But they were less confident with Dean. They told Sam not to get his hopes up, that Dean could die any day, or he wouldn't wake up from his coma. This had really depressed Sam, and he was stuck in this little rut. He could see the doctor's logic, and couldn't ignore it.

Sam finally made it to John's room—room 206. "Dad, I've got great—" He cut himself off when he spotted his father packing up anything that was his in the hospital. It wasn't much, but Sam knew what John looked like when he was about to up and leave.

John looked up. "Sam," he acknowledged.

"Where are you going, Dad?" Sam asked warily. Surely his father couldn't be leaving now, with Dean still in a coma…

"I've got to leave before the trail gets any colder than it already is," John responded, confirming Sam's fears. "I have permission to leave from the doctors, so there isn't anything to worry about. I'll be taking the Colt, as well."

"_Nothing to worry about!_" Sam repeated incredulously. "Dad, I don't know if you've noticed, but Dean's in a _coma_. Are you seriously choosing _now_ to abandon us? What's he going to think when he wakes up and you're not there?"

John shook his head. "The doctors say he's probably not going to wake up, Sammy. Remember that."

"How would you know! You won't even stick around long enough to find out! And for your information, I _know_ that Dean's going to wake up. I _saw_ it!"

John frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"I had a vision, Dad. I saw Dean, and he was alright!" Sam's hope came bursting up again, and it showed in his tone of voice. "And don't you dare say it was just a dream, because by now, I know the difference."

"Do you know when he's waking up?" John questioned. He still didn't know how trustworthy Sam's visions could really be. What if Sam's subconscious was just playing with his mind?

Sam paused. "I don't know. I just know he _is._" He made a face at his father. "Just stay here until he wakes up. You two… I mean… You need to talk to him."

John arched a brow at him. "About what?"

Sam shot him a look of disbelief. "What do you mean, _about what?_ Didn't you _hear_ what that demon said to him! Using your _voice_ and your body? Didn't you _see_ his face? You've got to talk to him! You have to make him—"

"Dean knows it was just the demon talking, and not me. I know my son, and he'd never believe anything foolish like that," John stated evenly. "He'll understand when I'm not here to see him. He knows all to well how important this is to us." And he slung his bag over his shoulder, walked past Sam and down the hall.

Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Dad!" he called, striding after his father.

John completely ignored him, and pushed through the hospital doors and finally made it outside. He needed to get the wrecked Impala to receive the Colt, and then he could be on his way. But before he made it any further, Sam's hand clapped down on his shoulder. He paused for a moment, then turned to look at his youngest.

"Dad, you just can't leave like this." Sam's voice was pleading.

"Do me a favor, Sam. When your brother wakes up, tell him that I said that I had to go after this thing. I don't need him right now, and I'll talk to him later." Once the words had left his mouth, John knew it was the wrong thing to say.

Sam's hand fell from his father's shoulder as he froze. "You can't honestly expect me to say that to him."

John was silent for a minute, and then kept walking. This time, Sam couldn't follow.

* * *

The day that Dean finally opened his eyes a few months later was the happiest day of Sam's life. His brother was reluctant about speaking for a long time, but Sam was still ecstatic. He was full of smiles and was practically bouncing off the walls twenty-four seven.

Dean didn't seem to take too much notice to this. He looked as if he were trapped in his own little world. But when he did notice, he'd give Sam a small smile that would last a second or two.

When Dead did start talking again, the first thing he asked was, "Where's Dad?"

Sam frowned deeply, knowing that the question was bound to come eventually. He wasn't very well prepared…

Dean mistook Sam's silence and grew panicked. "Where's Dad, Sam? Where is he? God, don't tell me he's…he's—"

Sam shook his head. "No, no, he's not. He…he left, Dean. He left three months ago."

Dean fell silent and looked down. "He left," he repeated. "Oh." He paused for a long time before asking, "Did he…? I mean, he didn't say why?"

"Uh…he did tell me to tell you…" Sam stopped, remembering his father's exact words… Words that he never wanted to repeat to Dean…

"What?"

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "Nothing."

Dean glared. "If Dad wanted you to tell me something, then say it, damn it! I won't take no for an answer, and I'll sure as hell know if you're lying or not!"

Sam gulped. "He—he said that… He had to go after the demon… That…he…he…he…"

"What?" Dean demanded. "What?"

"He said he didn't…need you right now and that'd he'd talk to you later."

"_They don't need you! Not like you need them."_

Dean cringed as his memory yelled the words out.

"Dean, I tried to make him stay. But I _know_ he'd tell you that what the demon said when it was possessing Dad—it wasn't true. None of it was."

_If that were true, then why did you just tell me that Dad—not the demon that possessed him, but actually Dad himself—said that he didn't need me?_ Dean thought to himself. He inwardly sighed, and nodded in acknowledgement. "I know."

Sam wasn't sure if this was a lie, or if he was just imagining it sounding like a lie. All he knew was Dean was going to be okay. He smiled, thankful for that one fact. "Okay. I'm going to go get some coffee, okay?" He waited until Dean nodded again before going out in the hall.

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, his hand resting on his chest. The wounds that the demon had given him had healed a little, but the wounds that lay so much deeper remained open and flaring. And to add to that, his heart felt like a deadweight. It felt so _heavy…_ It was a strange feeling, but it was familiar. He almost wished he could still be in a coma, so he didn't have to think about all this. All that ever went through his mind was what the demon had said, and how much it had made _sense_.

Dean had told himself over and over that what the demon had said was just a big, fat, ugly lie. But what he really felt, deep down, was that it was actually the ugly truth. He didn't dare ask Sam about it, and he was much too afraid to ask his father. Because he knew that if he did ask Sam, he'd just lie. But his father, who gave everything out straight out, no matter how much it hurt, might…just might say…

Dean shook his head. _I can't…I can't think like that…I can't…_ He let out a choppy breath as he tried to calm himself down.

Being told he wasn't needed was something Dean wasn't ready for. Hell, he would _never_ be ready for it. He knew he had thought about it a few times before. Even back then it had made so much sense. _Too_ much sense. But he always hid the thought, deep down, underneath everything.

"Earth to Dean!"

Dean looked up to see his brother, cup of coffee in hand. His hand fell from his chest and he ignored Sam's questioning face.

"You okay there?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm only waiting to get out of this dump so we can go back to hunting."

_-End Prologue-_

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That's gotta be the longest prologue I've ever written... Jeeeeez...

Um, so please press that adorable little button... Yes, that one, the one that lets you leave a review. Isn't it cute? Yeah, go on...

lol, you get the picture

Until next time


	2. Chapter 2

HOLY SHIT, I almost had a stroke last night, watching Supernatural! JEEZ!

Here's the next chapter.

I don't own Supernatural... TT I can't wait until the next episode though... (cries)_

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-Two Months Later-

"Finally!" Dean exclaimed, all too relieved when he and Sam walked out of the hospital. "If I see another _goddamn_ hospital, it'll be too soon!"

A woman glared at Dean for his language as she walked past them, leading along a young child with wide eyes.

"Dean, tone it down," Sam warned under his breath.

"You try being anchored to a hospital bed for that long! Don't blame me for being happy I'm out of there."

Sam shook his head, leading the way to where he had parked the Impala. After Dean had woken up, Sam had taken it on himself to get the car fixed. Dean had sorely wanted to help, but Sam and the doctors wouldn't allow it. Since Sam wasn't the best with cars—especially completely smashed up cars—he took it to the shop, to Dean's horror. After being nagged at by Dean's persistent comments, Sam was forced to go down to the shop and make sure that no one 'screwed around' with Dean's baby.

It had taken a lot of work, and a lot of time, but it was worth the wait.

Dean trotted over to the Impala once he spotted it and ran a hand across the shiny clean surface. "Hmph. She looks okay, but let's see how she runs." He rested a hand on the hood, a ghost of a smile passing his face. "I missed you, baby. I'm sorry that my idiot brother took you to the shop."

"Hey!" Sam protested defensively. "If it weren't for me, it'd still be a scrap heap!"

"Don't remind me," Dean mumbled. "My baby's been through enough pain without you reminding her. By the way, you are _so_ not driving ever again."

Sam shook his head, opening the passenger door and slipping into the seat. He watched his big brother examine the car for several minutes. He was truly happy that Dean was back on his feet, but he was worried around hunting… Dean didn't seem ready for it, not yet. Dean would never admit it, but Sam knew his chest was still aching like crazy. Most of his other injuries that he had received from the crash had healed, and all that was left of them were scars.

Dean finally got behind the wheel and slid the keys into the ignition. He closed his eyes as the car started up, the rumbling purr of the engine so familiar—welcome. "She sounds great. Really nice…" He looked over his shoulder at the backseat. "They cleaned the upholstery real good too. Wouldn't want all that blood still back there." He then rifled around, digging out a cassette tape and pushing it into the tape player, realizing that he had missed his music almost as much as his car. "Okay. Where to, little bro?"

"Well, I've been staying at a motel up the street. Here, I'll give you directions."

Dean nodded as Sam gave him the directions. He was so glad to be out of the hospital. The look, the smell, the _annoying_ doctors that would never stop poking and prodding him. And when everyone left him alone, when Sam had gone back to the motel to rest, and the doctors had gone away to take care of someone else… He couldn't stand sitting in a bed, being completely alone, knowing that he could do absolutely nothing. He hated how his physical wounds healed, but the emotional ones decided to stick around. It was always like that.

"Left! Dean, it's left here!" Sam's urgent voice cut into his thoughts and brought him back to reality.

"Don't rush me, man," Dean advised as he carefully slowed down and made the turn.

"Hey, it's not my problem that you're spacing out like that," Sam defended himself. "You've been doing that a lot lately… Is there something on your mind?"

"Just trying to make sure those damn mechanics didn't screw with my car," Dean lied.

"Yeah-huh, I bet," Sam replied skeptically.

Dean glared at him. "Don't get smart with me."

Sam shrugged and pointed out the motel just up ahead. "That's it right there."

* * *

Dean nearly collapsed on Sam's bed. "Okay then. Now that we've _finally_ ditched the hospital crap, let's get moving. You've had _plenty_ to find out next gig. So shoot. What are we doing now?"

Sam looked down. "Eh…uh…," he began uncomfortably.

Dean stared at him expectantly. "You _did_ find something, right?"

"I did find something in Utah…," Sam confirmed. "But…uh…"

Dean arched a questioning eyebrow at his brother. "What is it?"

"Well, I was kind of thinking… I mean…" Sam took a deep breath. He knew his brother was going to be anything but happy when he told him what he was thinking. "I mean, we can go there… But I think I should take care of it…um…you know, by myself."

Dean's eyes flashed, but he quickly covered it up. So _that's_ what this was about… "And why is that, Sam?"

"We both know why, Dean."

Dean leaned forward. "Oh, no, please amuse me."

"I think…" Sam dug up all the stubbornness he could muster. "You just got out of the hospital, Dean. I think you still need some time to recuperate before you start hunting again."

Dean's eyes widened with fake interest. "Really? Wow." He then turned serious, his eyebrows creasing in annoyance. "I just spent the last few _months _recuperating! What, do you think I'm screwed up _so much_, I'd actually get you or someone else killed? I think I can handle one little hunt, Sam!"

"I'm just saying—"

"I don't _care_ what you're saying! Honestly, man."

"But, Dean… It sounds like it's only a minor problem. I can take care of it."

Dean shook his head. "No." He shook his head more. "No. We're going together or not at all. C'mon, let's get moving." And he eased himself up again.

"Now?" Sam asked, flustered. "I just thought that we'd at least stay the night."

Dean gestured around him. "And _I_ thought that there was only one bed here, but okay. I'll just sleep on the floor." He grabbed one of Sam's extra pillows and threw it on the floor.

"Uh…" Sam stared down at the thin, yellow carpeting. It looked as if it had been there for a century, and it probably hadn't been cleaned in just that long. "It's really gross down there."

Dean snorted. "What, do you want me to sleep in your bed with you? I've been covered in worse things. You know what's really gross? Organs." Dean shook his head with amusement. "I'd take this floor over organs any day of the week."

Sam shuddered. "Fine, man. You didn't have to put that image in my mind."

Dean shrugged. "Gross stuff happens in our line of work. I don't know if _you_ had an entanglement—heh—with organs yet…hmmm…" He eyes went distant, as if he were really trying to look back on their life, intent on figuring it out.

"No. Please change the subject."

Dean snapped his fingers, his eyes lighting up. "I got it! It was that time with the black dog…" His story trailed off as he frowned. "Wait, no, that's not it… You weren't with me that time… Um…"

"Why are we even _talking _about this!" Sam asked.

"Well, Sam, when you're lying in a bed with nothing to do, you tend to do a lot of thinking."

"You sat there for _that long_, thinking about _organs!_"

"No," Dean denied. "But it only came up."

"Whatever, man. When do you want to leave tomorrow?"

Dean sat on the floor. "When I'm good and ready. I don't want to wake up at midnight like you. I will sleep until I wake up, and then I'm going to take a shower and maybe grab something to eat. _Then_ we're going to leave."

Sam sat down on his bed. "Okay then. I'm going to sleep now. Good luck with that rug that resembles vomit."

Dean shot his brother a dirty look. "Anything's better than that hospital. That place was seriously fucked up." And he buried his head into the pillow.

"I guess," Sam mumbled before lying back on his own pillow.

Sam still didn't like the idea of Dean helping him out on the next hunt. He would have to make sure Dean was not going to help him, even if it meant bring up Sam's truckload of stubbornness that he usually saved for their father.

* * *

Want the next part? Or... Jeez, we need SOMETHING to do until next week! (needs episode two really bad... needs to watch the premiere again...) Damn, why can't they show an encore presentation! I wanna see it again!

(sigh)

pleeeeaaase review. That adorable button is crying.


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry for taking my time. I just rewrote this last night. It's kinda short, but since I'm sick, I get this awful migrane when i look at the bright, white light that is my computer screen. hopefully I'll post chapters quicker when i regain my health, lol.

Damn it, still wanna watch In My Time of Dying... hmph. dial up sucks out loud... Can't wait until this week's episode though, it looks interesting... hmmmmmmmmmmmm... (this time, i'll remember to record it, thank God)

Okay, i still don't own Supernatural. (sighs) Kripke is a master, and so are the Supernatural writers. If I tried to take that over... well... I can't, so I won't. lol

Please read and review, I looooove feedback.

* * *

It was late afternoon the next day when they arrived at the next motel in Utah. Dean happily fell back on his real bed. Sam had been right about that rug. It had not only resembled puke, but smelt like it too. The sheets on his new bed reeked of mothballs, but it was better than puke.

"So what are we dealing with?" he asked Sam.

Sam shifted uncomfortably—he seemed to be doing that a lot lately, for some odd reason…

Dean glared. "And don't you even _try_ to say that I'm not well enough to do this hunt. I am perfectly _fine!_ I have to do this, Sam, okay? I _need_ to do this!"

"No, you don't," Sam protested. "I can't do this on my own. I'm perfectly capable."

Dean shook his head. "I know, that's not the point. I _know_ you're more than capable."

Sam's face turned puzzled. "Then what is this about? You know you don't have to prove anything to me."

Dean was silent for a moment, looking down and scowling. "I… Just let me do that goddamn hunt! I'm not going to just sit on my ass and wait until _you_ say I'm ready to hunt again!"

"But you need your rest!"

Dean put both hands over his eyes, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes and letting out a frustrated breath. "If. I stay still. For much longer. I swear. I am going. To go. _INSANE._"

"It can't be that bad," Sam tried, turning on his puppy eyes that usually got Dean to do something.

Dean didn't look at Sam, knowing that if he caught the puppy eyes look, he'd cave. "You know I can't stay here. I know I can't stay here. I just… Every time I'm alone, doing nothing… I just end up thinking… I keep thinking about…" His hands dropped to his sides.

"You keep thinking about what?"

"Nothing. I just want you to know that I'm going whether you like it or not."

"Why?"

"Because I'm older than you, and I get the 'ordering Sammy around' privileges," Dean replied, flipping his hand in a nonchalant way.

"Like hell you do!" Sam stated angrily. It was the 'ordering around' part that had him pissed now. "Give me the keys, I'm going to do this. _Alone_."

"Sam, you need me for this hunt," Dean remarked evenly. He kept his face impassive and waited for an answer—it seemed to take forever for Sam to say it, but it had only taken a split second.

"No, I don't!" Sam shot back.

The wounds underneath flared again, and Dean felt the weight back on his heart. If he weren't so skilled at hiding what he was feeling, he might've actually flinched at Sam's words. He kept up an apathetic front, keeping his emotions from Sam's prying eyes. He pursed his lips and glanced down for a second, trying to ignore the ice knives that pierced his insides.

Sam didn't realize what he had done. He held out his hand. "The keys, Dean," he demanded. He knew this was for his brother's own good. Better here and brooding than out there and getting killed.

Dean took the keys out of his pocket, but instead of handing them over to Sam, he clenched then in his fist. He stood up wordlessly and picked up his duffle bag, and then, slowly, walked out the door.

Sam stood there for a moment in surprised silence, and then ran out to where his brother still walked. The parking lot was completely empty, save for the Impala… Sam almost tripped over his own feet. This was the scene…the scene he had seen in his vision months before… "Dean! What the hell are you doing? I told you, I've got to do this one alone!"

Dean turned back to face his little brother, almost cringing at the sight of Sam's face. But he collected himself and forced his expression to be angry. "That's exactly what I'm going to let you do. It's just as you said, Sammy. It's just as you said. You don't need me for this. Hell, I _know_ you don't need me, for _any_ of this. You can hunt on your own, Sam, you don't need my help. And, hey, if you don't need me, why should I sit around and get in your way?"

Sam realized. He saw it in Dean's eyes. It wasn't often when he would see raw pain in his brother's eyes—Dean was too damn good at hiding it. And now, it was either that Dean didn't care, or it was too powerful to cover it up. Sam knew it had to be the latter. "Dean, no—"

Dean ran a hand through his hair and turned his back on his brother. He closed his eyes for a moment, and took a deep breath. He shouldn't do this… He then opened his eyes again and glanced over his shoulder. "Goodbye, Sammy."

He eased open the door of the Impala and settled himself in the driver's seat, slamming the door behind him. For a minute, he just sat there, staring at the keys in the palm of his hand and wondering if he could go back now. _Yeah, right,_ Dean scoffed.

Sam sprang to the door and pulled at the handle. It was locked. Desperate, he pounded the palm of his hand on the window. "Dean!"

Dean ignored him and started up the engine. He then pulled out of the parking lot and drove down the street, only half paying attention when he spotted Sam trying to sprint after him. He put on speed, and watched as his little brother disappeared in the rearview mirror.

* * *

Sam sunk onto his bed, burying his head in his hands. His breathing was heavy and his body ached from running after Dean for six of the longest miles of his life. It was useless to run, to try to catch up with a car, but Sam couldn't just stand there and do nothing while his brother drove away.

_But he wouldn't just up and leave,_ Sam mused to himself. _He's probably only going to go to a bar, maybe get laid, and then he'll come back tomorrow morning._

It was a weak attempt to reassure himself, Sam knew. He knew that Dean wouldn't have grabbed his duffle bag if he were merely going to a bar.

But then again, Sam really didn't expect Dean to stay away for that long. He knew his brother—or at least he thought he did—and his brother wouldn't leave him here, all 'unprotected'.

Even though Sam could protect himself just fine, Dean had always insisted on doing the job for him. It was like his way of life—he could just _not_ protect Sam. That's why Sam knew…he knew that Dean would surely come back.

Sam nodded to himself. _Yeah, that's right. He'll probably come back any minute now. He'll come through that door and say 'my bad'. Yeah… He'll come back real soon…

* * *

_

Dean gripped the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles turned white. His mind was racing, going out of control, and he found it extremely difficult to think straight.

_It was right. I can't believe it was right,_ he thought quietly to himself. _If I'm not needed by Sam, or Dad, or anyone, then why was I even born? Just so they could feel needed by me? That's a reason, I guess…_

Dean shook his head. _I don't care if they use me for their own selfish good, because I love them both like hell. But…I just…how could they…?_

He squeezed the wheel even harder, if that were possible. He only took a hand off for just a second to push in a cassette tape and crank it up extra loud. He had driven in silence for much too long, and it was high time to drive the thoughts out of his head. Loud music was just the thing to do that, too. Metallica boomed out of the speakers, at a volume that Sam never would have allowed.

Dean gritted his teeth at the thought of his brother. _No, there isn't any Sam anymore… There isn't any Dad. They're not here. It's just me and evil. Because even if my own family doesn't need me, there are plenty of people who do. Like all those innocent people, right now, being killed. They need me._

There was only one problem. Maybe his family didn't need him, but he knew that he needed them—more than either one of them would know. He knew he wouldn't be able to not think of them, or wish they were there alongside him. He just hoped that he would be able to go on without turning back. God, he really wanted to turn back… But the louder voice, the dude who usually didn't get to speak, in his mind, was telling him that if he didn't leave, and if he didn't leave soon…

He also hoped that Sam didn't think too harshly of him when he had left. Maybe he was pissed that he left—or happy he was gone.

Dean rubbed his forehead and turned up the volume more.

* * *

Okay, now before you kill me I just want to say... (knife flies from no where and kills me)

(glares) What part of "Before you kill me I just want to say" didn't you understand?

(is dead)

(someone forgets the ole salt'n'burn)

(comes back)

Okay...well, anywayz, please review. Don't worry about anything, cuz Dean and Sammy will meet up again. (Because you can't have a good Dean!angst story without lil Sammy there along with him.) Well, you could, but... yeah.


	4. Chapter 4

It's been a while, but I'm here with another chapter... Sorry it took so long, but school has been murder...honestly.

I hope you like this next chapter. Still working on writing and rewriting, so hopefully I'll get the next chapter out soon...

I don't own Supernatural, but after hearing it was going to be back on next week with a new eppie, I've been pretttttttty happy...

* * *

It was a week later when Sam had begun getting _really_ worried. He had taken care of his job, thinking that maybe Dean would be back by the time he was done, but there was no such luck.

Staying away for one night was understandable. Two days, he would start to get worried. But staying away for a _week_? Sam was beginning to think that his brother really wasn't coming back. That thought in particular unnerved Sam. He didn't want to leave the small motel in Utah, because what if Dean did come back? Even if he _did_ want to leave the motel, he couldn't really go anywhere without a car.

Sam picked up his cell phone. He had been holding back from calling Dean, because, frankly, he wasn't sure what to say. But now he had no choice. He dialed Dean's number and pressed the send button, and then sat on the end of his bed and waited with baited breath.

After quite a few rings, it went straight to Dean's voicemail. It didn't take too long for Sam to notice that the answering message was new.

_Hey, you've reached Dean Winchester. I'm not around, so…leave a message after the beep. Oh, and if this is Sam, don't bother. And don't call back, man, I really mean it. Bleep!_

Sam did the only thing he could do at this point—he called again.

* * *

Dean was ready to chuck his phone out the window after it began to ring for the fifth—or was it the sixth?—time. He was currently residing at a motel in Oregon, where he had read about a series of suspicious murders. Unfortunately enough, he had left the laptop with Sam, so any time he needed to do research, he had to hop to the nearest internet café, or a library.

But at the moment, the only demon he wanted to kill was that blasted phone. The front screen kept flashing _Sammy_, and the ring tone was driving him up the wall.

_It's nice to know that Sam did exactly what I told him not to do,_ Dean thought as the phone rang again. He finally flipped open the phone and turned it off, the silence that followed welcomed.

What Dean didn't get was why didn't Sam try calling sooner? He had been gone for a week already, and if he knew Sam, his brother would have called the moment he stayed away for longer than twenty-four hours.

He groaned. All he had wanted to do was to keep his mind off Sam, but his mind just wasn't agreeing with him. Every time he thought of Sam, his older brother instincts tried to take over. He had this urge to go back to Utah and just _be there_ to protect Sam. If anything ever happened to him, Dean knew he would never forgive himself.

_Sam can protect himself. He's said that millions of times before,_ Dean tried to reassure himself. _He doesn't…he doesn't 'need' me._ He felt the pain underneath again. It was insane, it kept jumping him when he wasn't doing anything else to keep busy. When Sam wasn't around, it didn't jump him as often. Thoughts of his little brother kept his mind off it. Hunting kept his mind off it. Anything, as long as he was busy with something else. He couldn't stand still, because his mind would always come back to that little cabin, to that awful place where he had learned the truth.

"_You know, you fight, and you fight for this family, but the truth is they don't need you! Not like you need them. Sam, he's clearly John's favorite. Even when they fight, it's more concern than he's ever shown you…"_

Those were the last words that John had spoken to him. And he could still remember it _word by word_. It may have been the demon using John's voice, but it was still the last thing that came from his father's mouth.

_Stop thinking like that!_ Dean shouted to himself in his mind. Every time he thought, every time he relived the moments that had hurt him most, he felt as if he were going to explode with…with…'emotions'. Something he was not supposed to have. And he knew well enough that by now, all the stuff he had kept inside ever since he was four would cause one hell of an explosion. He had serious doubts that he would be able to keep his sanity if such an 'explosion' ever occurred.

He glared into thin air and grabbed the car keys off the nightstand. "Research," he grumbled to himself dismally, before he walked out of the room.

* * *

Two weeks later was when Sam couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't just sit around and hope Dean would answer his desperate calls. He knew he had no choice—he had to call in the big guns. He knew only one other person would be able to get through to Dean.

He took up his cell phone again and called his father, and waited while it rang. He was still in Utah, and the only way he could get around was by taxi. He needed some backup, and his father was the only other person he could call. And he knew that if it wasn't an emergency, John would have his neck, but Sam considered Dean missing to be an emergency.

Once the phone stopped ringing, all Sam got was John's voicemail—as usual.

"Dad, it's Sam. Something's come up. It's about Dean. I think…I mean, he left. He left…three weeks ago, and, Dad, I don't think he's coming back." Sam shook his head, feeling helpless. "Dad, if you get this, _please_ do something. I'm really…really worried about him. The last place I saw him was here, in Utah. We're…um…I'm staying at a motel here." And he proceeded with directions to the motel. After that, he hung up and rested his forehead against the wall, a motion he had noticed that Dean did when he was upset—something he only did when he thought Sam wasn't around. Honestly, Sam didn't know what to do anymore. He felt lost.

A minute later, his phone rang, indicating that he had a new text message.

Surprised, Sam looked at the phone's screen and opened up the message.

_Stay there. Call me if Dean isn't back by tomorrow night._

Sam shook his head again. Of course, only John would send him a message instead of calling him, which probably would've been easier. He found himself wondering what John was planning on doing. He didn't really care either way, as long as it brought his brother back to him.

* * *

Later that same night, Dean was about to go to sleep when he heard his phone ringing again. He had turned it back on earlier, realizing that he might actually miss an important call.

But when he flipped open his phone, he saw it was only a text message.

_GO BACK TO UTAH AND PROTECT YOUR BROTHER._

Dean's eyes widened at the order, feeling the need to obey. It didn't surprise him that Sam had called their father, but he _was_ surprised to find out that Sam was still in Utah after all this time. He couldn't still be hunting…

_You drove off in Sam's only means of transportation, idiot,_ Dean thought to himself. _Of course he's not still hunting._

He bit his tongue and closed his eyes. He hated the feeling that grew in the pit of his stomach when he was about to willingly disobey his father. Ever since the shtriga, Dean found out that disobeying orders was just a trap full of guilt.

_He doesn't need me there to protect him,_ he typed back. His thumb hovered over the send button for a second, but he finally pressed it.

Dean then sat there for a long time, staring at the cell phone in his hand, waiting for the next message—the next order. But no matter how long he waited, nothing came. No response.

He tossed the phone on his pillow, no longer feeling tired.

He had done all he could do for the day. He had done some research Sammy-style, asked around, but hadn't figured out enough to actually hunt yet. But at that moment, Dean felt so useless, just sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor. He needed to do _something_. But he couldn't do anything constructive. The library was closed, and everyone was asleep.

Dean glanced to the clock. _The library may be closed, but I know what isn't…_

Smirking bitterly, he snatched up his car keys. _No Sam here to hold me back from drinking how much I want this time,_ he thought to himself wryly.

* * *

A few hours later, Dean opened up the backdoor to the Impala and collapsed in the backseat. He slammed the door behind him and lay back, relaxing against the comfortably familiar feeling of the upholstery.

"Wow," he breathed to himself, blinking. "I haven't done that in a _really_ long time."

When he first arrived at the small town bar, he had played some pool. Lost some money, won it back four times over. After he was financially satisfied, he began to drink. He didn't remember how much exactly. Just that it was a lot.

He sighed and rubbed the upholstery of the backseat. "Mm-hm, they cleaned you up _real_ good. Looks just as nice as it did _before_ I fucking bled ten gallons of blood on it." He smiled faintly and looked up to the ceiling. "Yep, they fixed you up real nice, girl." It was the last words he spoke before passing out.

* * *

Sam had to leave another message for John when Dean didn't return the next night. And the next afternoon, he was surprised when someone knocked at the door.

_Dean!_ his hope spoke for him. John must've gotten through to his boneheaded brother… But when Sam opened up the door, he saw his father instead. The man hadn't changed on bit in the almost six months that Sam hadn't seen him, and the youngest Winchester could only stare in shock for a moment.

_What, he couldn't come when Dean was dying, but he decides he can come when Dean leaves?_ Sam thought angrily to himself.

"Gather up your stuff," John said gruffly, not bothering with a greeting. "We're going to find your brother."

Sam grabbed his already-packed duffel bag. "I'm all ready. I just have to check out."

John nodded in acknowledgement, somewhat vaguely. "I'll be waiting in the trunk. Hurry up." And he strode away without another word.

Sam did so, quickly checking out of the motel. When he finally climbed into the passenger seat of John's truck, he cast a confused glance at his father. "You came all the way here just to help me find Dean?"

"I couldn't just leave you stranded here when you could be hunting," John replied, not bothering to tell Sam how much he was worried about protecting him. "So you might as well hunt with me until we find your brother." He looked to his youngest. "He says…he said that you didn't need him there? Is that why he left? Because he didn't feel needed?"

"As far as I know," Sam replied quietly, bubbles of guilt popping in his mind.

John scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Was he high?"

Sam snorted in disgust. "You're joking, right?"

"It's just that the Dean _I_ know would never do such a _senseless_ and _stupid_ thing!"

"Oh, you mean the Dean that follows your every frickin' order? That's who Dean is to you, right? I'm beginning to think that you and I have two very different views of Dean."

John was silent for a moment. "I have no doubt about that. Dean's job is to protect you. He'll do that whether I order him to or not. I'm sure you know that side of Dean just as well as I do."

Sam nodded. "Yeah…" He paused. "Where do you think he is?"

John grunted. "I don't know, Sam. I just get the feeling that he left—left the hunt, that is. He never did see the hunt for the demon the way you and I do."

"That's because Dean doesn't fight for revenge," Sam pointed out. "He fights to protect me—to protect _us_."

"Hmph… If Dean can hunt that well just for us, then I'd like to see him hunt for revenge."

"And I don't think Dean would just leave the hunt and try to live 'normally'," Sam remarked in a _why would you even consider that?_ tone of voice. "He wouldn't do that, I know. I think he feels like he has an obligation to hunt. To protect people who can't do anything against spirits or demons or whatever."

John shrugged, not ready to throw away any theories. "You never know, Sam. I once thought that _you_ had an obligation to the innocent people too. But you gave it up for college." Dean…" He trailed off with an annoyed huff. If _that_ were the case—

"Are you angry with him?" Sam asked, looking wary.

"Like hell I am! Once we find him, I am going to sit him down and give him a long serious talk. Walking out on you like that, when anything could walk in and kill you!"

Sam didn't even bother hiding his surprise. "You're worried about _me? Dean's_ the one who's missing! Dean's the one we can't find! Besides, Dad, I'm _twenty-three_ years old! I'm not four, I can protect myself just fine!"

"That doesn't make what your brother did any more right. Just because you can protect yourself doesn't mean Dean can use that as an excuse for leaving for no good reason."

Sam let out a short breath in disbelief. "Yeah, and how do you think he felt when _you _ran off for no good reason?"

"You know what happened, Sam."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, we know _now_. But how do you think…how do you think he felt when you went missing? How do you think he felt when he realized that you had left him alone, for no reason he could see?"

"He wouldn't have been alone if you were there with him and not in college, Sam! But you know, if all you wanted to do was argue with me, you should have never called in the first place. Do you want to find your brother or not?"

"I do… But, Dad… Dean and I couldn't find you when you were missing. You were the one who found us. Dean's not going to let us find him unless he wants to, or if he makes a mistake."

"I know," John agreed knowingly. He _had_ been the one who taught Dean almost everything he knew. "That's why we're going to keep out eye out for any of his mistakes while we're hunting."

Sam folded his arms across his chest angrily. "Oh, I get it. So we're just going to _keep our eye out_ for Dean while we're hunting. We're not really _looking_ for him."

John glared at him. His son loved to twist his words around… "Do you have any other plans?"

"…No…," Sam admitted, falling silent.

"I thought so. Okay, our next job—in Arizona." John began to ramble on about the next gig, with Sam only paying half attention. The only thought in his mind was how much he hoped Dean would be okay.

* * *

"_That's all part of your M.O. isn't it? Mask all that nasty pain. Mask the truth."_

The words boomed from nowhere, and Dean found himself trapped in a ring of fire. The fiery walls that surrounded him were closing in, and he knew that if he didn't escape soon, he'd be burned.

"_You know, you fight and you fight for this family, but the truth is they don't need you. Not like you need them."_

Dean closed his eyes against the harsh sound of his father saying such words. He knew that John was possessed—it was just that seeing those yellow eyes replacing his father's made it so much easier to believe that it was the _demon_ saying that and not John himself.

"_Sam, he's clearly John's favorite. Even when they fight, it's more concern that he's ever shown you."_

Dean was really beginning to feel the heat of the fire now, and the smoke was making his eyes water like mad. He tried to get the demon's words out of his mind, tried to clear his mind so he could formulate a plan. How could he get out of this trap?

He knew he didn't have much time left, and it seemed that with every word the demon spoke, the closer the fire came. Even now it began to lick at his pants, and he quickly stepped back, only to receive more flames in the back.

"_They don't need you!"_ The words made Dean cringe as the fire began to engulf his body, burning at his skin. _"Not like you need them!_"

"No!" Dean shouted, falling on his knees and covering his ears. "No, that's not true!"

"_I can read your mind. You know it's true, just as I know. Just accept it."_

"No," Dean murmured again, this time weak with renouncement. He knew the only one he was trying to convince this time was himself.

"_They don't need you…," _it whispered.

"No!" Dean yelled, those last four words the last he heard before the scorching flames consumed him.

* * *

Dean bolted up, sweat coating his body. He threw off his blankets, the heat unbearable. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and wiped it on the already-too-dirty bed sheets. He didn't notice it at first, but his breaking was shaky, and so were his hands.

"Get a hold of yourself, Dean," he hissed to himself. "It was just a—" He cut himself off. He wished he could say it was just a dream. But it wasn't. Those words really had been said—most of them anyway.

Dean groaned and pushed himself off the bed, the old springs creaking loudly. He ran a hand through his messy hair, irritated. _I can't even get to sleep!_

The last few nights it wasn't too bad. But now that nightmares were becoming a constant—well, a constant nightmare—Dean was beginning to wish for a simple dreamless sleep.

Stepping into the bathroom, Dean turned on the sink and splashed icy cold water on his face. He rubbed his eyes furiously, trying to rid the dream from his mind. It did no good.

He straightened and gazed into the mirror above the sink and winced.

_Man, if Sam could see me now, he'd have a cow._

His complexion was pale, his moss green eyes lifeless and tired. Dark circles had only begun to creep up under his eyes, and to add to the mix, his hair looked like it had gone through a blender set on puree.

Overall, he felt like a million bucks—that had been flushed down the toilet, gone through the shredder, and had been burnt to a crisp.

Dean turned away from the pale man in the mirror, going back to his bed and shrugging to himself. _I've been worse, I guess. But I've also definitely been better._

He sat on the end of his bed. It wasn't as easy as it had been before. He felt weighed down by his emotions, and with no one there with him… Hunting was the only thing he could do now. Everything else was just as meaningless to him as it had always been. It was going to be this way for the rest of his life. The hunt would never, never end. It was scary to think about—hunting for literally your whole life, and then when you die, you leave knowing that there's plenty more bad things out there that you couldn't get to, and probably end up going to hell to meet up with all your 'old pals' anyway.

Dean knew that hunting would probably take more of a toll on him now. He would have never admitted it to Sam, but he still felt a little…a little 'weak' from the accident. He was told that it would take a while to get over, but he didn't have time. He only had the rest of his life.

As always, he didn't have time for stupid things like 'weakness' or 'emotions'. He just had to get the job done. And that's exactly what he planned on doing.

* * *

Okay, note here. I really don't think that any of those Winchesters would ever go to hell on normal consequences--they're all too heavenly for that. (sighs) especially Dean...

please review, I live off them.

hopefully next chapter will be coming soon.


	5. Chapter 5

Hey everyone. I am SO sorry that i haven't updated in like, forever, but things have been preeeeeeetttttttttttty busy. Hopefully I'll get in the groove again. And actually finish this story.

I DON'T own Supernatural. But I do know that Eric Kripke left us an unbelievably evil cliffhanger, and i can't wait until i see 'Hunted' next week.

okay, let's go.

* * *

John clapped a hand on Sam's shoulder and smiled brightly. "Good work."

Sam smiled back, wiping a trickle of blood from his forehead, which was where the poltergeist they had been hunting had thrown a book at him.

It had been five long months since Dean had left, and Sam and John hadn't found any trace of him. They had looked in between hunts, kept looking for mistakes, like aliases they knew Dean used… But they found absolutely nothing. Sam had lost hope. Three months had passed since Dean's phone number had been disconnected—a sure sign that he had changed it.

So now, Sam hunted by his father's side—for the first time ever without Dean. At first it was strange—with no one to get between them during arguments. But Sam had to admit it, now he was actually beginning to enjoy working with the man. As for arguments, they hadn't gotten in too many lately, which was a great relief to Sam. It was only the occasional disagreement over what to do next.

Otherwise, Sam's only problem was the thought of Dean. The worry in his heart had only gotten heavier as the months passed, and whenever he had the spare time, he would only realize it again.

He had also thought about the vision he had of Dean all those months ago. He found it odd, seeing how everything else he saw was someone dying. This led him to believe that when Dean drove away, he drove to his death. This, as imagined, only worried Sam even more. For all he knew, Dean could already be—

_No,_ Sam ordered to himself, _he's not dead, he can't be!_ And he froze at the familiarity of the words.

"Sam? Are you still with me?" John asked, turning the truck onto the interstate.

Sam had barely noticed that they had already gotten into the truck and had been driving for quite a while now. He was too deep in thought, and when that happened, he rarely took notice to any of his surroundings.

"Just thinking, Sam replied, rubbing his forehead.

John nodded, understanding. His son was often losing himself in his thoughts—thankfully not during anything important. John was happy to say that he thought that he and Sam had grown closer as father and son over the months. Even if they hadn't found _the_ demon yet, at least he could have the reassurance that his son was there, and was a _hell_ of a hunter—a great person to back him up when the time came. He only wished he could say the same about Dean. He still had the lingering thought that his eldest had tried to live normally. He knew that Dean _deserved_ a real life like that, and felt guilty for not letting him have one. He had already driven off Sam when he went to college, but now Dean too?

Sam yawned loudly, and settled himself in a more comfortable position. He had to admit…it was nice to drive in silence for a change, but sometimes he missed Dean's loud music. No, that wasn't right. He didn't miss Dean's _music_, he missed Dean himself… His music was only a part of him, and right now, Sam needed all of him.

He closed his eyes, then opened them up a crack, and then let them flutter tiredly. He told himself he would wait until they got to a motel, so he wouldn't have to sleep in the car, but before he knew it, he was sound asleep.

* * *

When Sam opened his eyes again, he was in a completely different atmosphere. He was standing outside what he recognized as Missouri Mosley's house.

_Strange_, he thought, _why are we here?_

He then heard a sound that he had been longing for over the past few months. An engine…an engine of a painfully familiar car. The beautiful '67 Chevy Impala, with an equally familiar silhouette in the driver's seat.

The car drove up the street, pulled into Missouri's driveway, and Dean opened up the door. Sam couldn't see him just yet, since he was facing the passenger side of the car. Once Dean began to stand up, Sam's vision began to blur. He fought it, fought to see his brother's face, to see if he was okay. But all he could make out was a blurry blob that could have been a demon for all he knew.

Black spots swam before Sam's eyes, and they kept multiplying until all Sam could see was black…a sea of darkness.

* * *

Sam's eyes snapped open, his heart racing, incoherent thoughts shooting across his mind. It was a minute or two when he realized that his father was trying to communicate with him.

"What is it, Sam? What did you see?" John asked, his voice traced with worry. He knew well enough by now what Sam looked like after a vision.

"I…I saw," Sam gasped out. He felt breathless for some reason, and took a moment to collect himself. "I saw…Missouri's house…" He closed his eyes.

"And?" John pressed. "Is something going to happen to her?"

Sam shook his head. "No…, it's not like that. I saw…I mean, I saw Dean's car come into her driveway, and he was coming out of the car…"

"So he's okay? He's…?"

"I didn't get to see him," Sam admitted. "I knew it was him, thought. This means he's still alive! This means that if we go to Missouri's, we could see him again!" Sam smiled happily. "We have to go there, Dad! We _have_ to!"

"Oh, we're going there all right," John half growled. "I don't care if we stay there for a month."

Sam's smile disappeared. "Are you still upset with him? I really don't think that Dean would ever do what you think. He's not like that—he's not like me. He's not going to abandon the job."

"I said it several times before, Sam, your brother had _no right_ to leave us like that. When I left, I had a very good reason. When you left, at least we knew where you were going, just in case. But Dean just up and left, not even speaking with us for five months. He could have been killed, and we would never know about it. And after all this time when he should have been protecting you…"

Sam frowned. "We should at least be happy that we'll see him again, that he's _not_ dead."

"Don't get me wrong, I'm happy he's okay. I'm happy I'm going to see him again," John began gruffly. "I'm just saying that I'm angry because we didn't know his intentions. He was missing for five months…" He sighed, shaking his head to himself and flooring the gas pedal, sending them surging forward.

They arrived at Missouri's house a few hours later, and explained their situation. Missouri had happily welcomed into her home, and said that they could stay for as long as they needed to. She had two guestrooms for John and Sam, and they had gratefully thanked her.

Now John was discussing something with Missouri, and Sam was in his room.

_I'm hope I'm right,_ he thought to himself. He sat on the edge of his bed and ran a worried hand through his hair. _God, I hope I'm right._

"I hope you are too."

Sam looked up to see Missouri. He gave her a small smile, as if to reassure her that he was okay, even when he knew that if she looked into his mind, she would see something different from what was on his face.

"You and Dad done talking?" he asked.

Missouri nodded. "And I've got supper on the stove, so you better have an appetite. You can worry about Dean later. You already know he's comin'."

Sam sighed. "I can't help being worried about him. He's never done something like this before. I never _imagined_ him doing something like this."

"There's a reason for everything," Missouri said matter-of-factly. "I'm sure Dean had his reasons."

Sam shrugged helplessly. "I just don't know why I had another vision of him. I always dream of death."

"It doesn't mean Dean's gonna die. You have a special connection with your brother. In the hospital, you were so worried about his health, and you were dying to know if he would make it or not. Then you had the vision."

"That's right," Sam agreed. "And ever since he left, I've been really worried. And I had the vision of him coming here…" It all made sense, it some way. "When I'm really worried, my visions of him seem to reassure me…"

Missouri nodded. "I think it's just your body responding to the emotional stress." She shook her head. "I don't know for sure either way. Seeing the future is very different from reading minds."

"But if that's the case, then why didn't I have the vision months ago, when he first left?"

"And why did you have the vision after Dean had been in a coma for quite a few months?"

Sam shook his head, only getting more confused.

"I know this must be really weird for you, and hard to get. But you'll get used to it," Missouri tried.

"Yeah," Sam murmured. "I just wish I could do something else to help him…"

"I'm sure Dean can fix his own problems," Missouri stated. "It's just that this time, he went about it in a way that I wouldn't say was the best."

Sam frowned, his worry still eating at him.

Missouri gave him a smile. "Don't worry, Sam. I'll be sure to whack him with my spoon for worrying you so much."

* * *

To make up for that short chapter, I have a deleted scene!

_-Deleted Scene-_

"I…I saw," Sam gasped out. He felt breathless for some reason, but who could blame him? Dean was the hottest thing that hit earth, so seeing him would put anyone's hormones into overdrive.

_-End Deleted Scene. Sam is Not Gay-_

Please review! It makes me happy!


	6. Chapter 6

After a LONG LONG WAY TOO LONG of a break, I am BACK!

back in black starts to play

Hahahaha, I am SO SORRY it took so long. I'm not sure how this happened...yet it did. I realized that I never finished rewriting the story...or finishing it at all... So today I rewrote another chapter! If I keep going, I'll have around 7 more chapters to give you! (i'll know more when i'm done rewriting) But the hard part after that is finishing it after i've taken a break from it so long... so wish me luck!

Again, i'm so sorry! Here's the new chapter!

Dean closed and locked the door behind him the moment he strode into the motel room

Dean closed and locked the door behind him the moment he strode into the motel room. He rubbed his sore, tired eyes and took out his cell phone, scrolling down the contact list until _Missouri_ was highlighted. He needed to give Missouri a call because he had run into a slight problem… He just needed to ask her a few question.

He sat on his bed, in an attempt to ease his weary legs while listening to Missouri's phone ring a few times before she picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Missouri, it's Dean—"

"Dean Winchester! I have been waiting for you for an entire _week_ now, boy!"

Dean was confused. "I didn't know you could see the future, too…"

"Why have you called?"

Dean frowned. She foresees him calling her but she can't tell why he called? He thought _mind reading_ was her specialty, not future seeing… Since when had she been able to see the future? But then again, she could be just fooling around with him… She did seem to like that…

Dean shook his head. He was definitely thinking about this too much. "Well, there's been these weird things happening to people, and I think this one kid has been causing it. I think he might be psychic—a mind reader. So I thought I'd ask you if… I mean, if there's anything you can tell me, I could really use some info."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "IF you want some information, you'll have to come to my house," Missouri said evenly.

This put Dean back into the state of confusion. "Why?"

"Because what I need to say needs to be said to your face."

Dean's eyebrows creased and his frown remained. "Uh… Okay… I'm not too far from there. I guess I'll leave tomorrow morning… So I should be there… I don't know…sometime tomorrow morning. Is that okay?"

"Perfect, Dean. I'll see you then." And Missouri hung up.

Dean slowly closed his phone. What could be so important about mind readers that Missouri couldn't say it over the phone? He really didn't have the time to go to Missouri's house and back, even if it was only a half an hour, or maybe forty-five minutes away. A lot could happen while he was gone… But luckily enough for him, the psychic kid didn't seem to be in the killing mood—yet. He would have to make it really quick.

He rubbed his forehead tiredly, tossing his phone aside and falling backwards onto his mattress. It seemed like right after he had left Sam, all it had been was hunt after hunt after hunt. There was barely enough time to take a breath. There was just too much evil out there… If Sam had been there, he would have insisted on taking a short rest every handful of hunts or so. But now there was no Sam to stop him. The only time he wasn't on a hunt was when he was sleeping, driving, or looking for something else to kill. Now he had more scars to show off, and quite a few more stories he could file away.

But he did have to admit, Sam was definitely better at exorcisms. Dean, even though he had been doing exorcisms longer than Sam, just couldn't read Latin as fast as his little brother. Even when he _really_ needed it to be done fast, he just couldn't go that fast without it sounding like gibberish. He had to perform a few exorcisms over the past few months, and the first time it didn't even work. He realized that he had gotten a little rusty when it came to Latin, since he had been letting Sam do all the reading…

_It all comes back to Sam again_, Dean thought. _Why does it always come back to Sam?_

* * *

"That was Dean," Missouri informed John and Sam, who, until then, were eating silently at the dinner table.

Sam's eyes instantly brightened. "He's coming?!"

Missouri nodded. "I talked him into it."

Sam smiled, for the first time in days.

"You tricked him, didn't you?" John asked. "He wouldn't really come if he knew we were here waiting for him."

Missouri paused for a moment before nodding again." I didn't mention you or Sam," she agreed. "He thinks that he's only coming here for information. He said that he'll be here tomorrow morning."

"Did he sound okay?" Sam questioned. "He isn't hurt or sick or something, is he?"

Missouri smiled at him. She could feel all the thoughts that were running through Sam's head at that moment. Happy and worried and relieved thoughts shot through his mind at the speed of light. "Yes, he sounded perfectly fine."

Sam returned to his happy mood, only being able to say, "Awesome."

Missouri then turned her gaze on John. His thoughts had been muffled by Sam's loud ones, but now she could concentrate on him He wasn't as happy as Sam—well, Missouri doubted that _anyone_ could be as happy as Sam right now. But it was really strange, almost as if—

"Did he say what time he would come tomorrow morning?" Sam asked, cutting off her train of thought.

Missouri shook her head at him. "No, honey."

Sam smiled again anyway. _When you come, Dean, I'm gonna apologize… We can finish what we started—finally._

The next day, Sam got up at nine and stared out the window. He watched the road for five whole hours, nearly jumping every time he heard a car, and growing disappointed when it wasn't Dean. He was losing hope again, and wondered if his vision really was a dream after all.

"Y'can't stare out that window all day," Missouri said, coming up behind him.

"He isn't coming. My vision lied."

"Visions don't 'lie', Sam. It showed you that he would come here. He probably got tied up doing something, but he'll come eventually—because you saw it. And _no_, it wasn't a dream."

"If he isn't coming," John began slowly, "then we have time for a hunt." Over the past half hour or so, the older man had sat on the couch, reading the paper. He now handed that paper to Sam.

_MAN KILLED WHILE RESTORING HOUSE,_ the headline read.

"Thomas Fordman was helping a couple restore a house they had bought," John said, not waiting for Sam to read the story himself, "and while he was working, a chandelier fell on him. It was supposedly an accident, but the other workers claimed that they saw a ghost of a teenage girl cutting the ropes that held the chandelier. The ropes did look like they got cut, but of course, no one believes that it might have been a spirit."

"Dad, we can't go on a hunt now!" Sam protested, glancing out the window again. Dean was going to come any minute, he was _sure_ of it.

"Missouri will call us if Dean comes. Besides, this place is only forty-five minutes away. It won't take that long," John reassured him.

"Your father's right," Missouri chimed in. "I can keep your brother here if he comes. You need to take care of these people."

John nodded. "Exactly, Sam. You know how these things are. This incident probably isn't the first one this spirit has caused."

Sam thought about it for a long time. He finally sighed, giving one last glance through the window before nodding. "Okay, let's go."

"That's my boy," John said happily as he pushed himself off the couch. "Let's not waste time. We leave tonight."

* * *

Sam and John had planned on breaking into the house to check it out, but were surprised to find the door unlocked.

John carefully eased open the door and motioned for Sam to follow him. The house was dark and silent, like a winter night. The silence was never broken—the house was far from the road, so not even the sound of passing cars could be heard. The driveway itself must have been a half a mile long. Sam remembered seeing a motel across the street, and filed it away in the back of his mind in case they needed someplace to stay.

He couldn't do much research on the way over, but managed to find out about some more incidents that were probably caused by this spirit. Not anything too serious—things that would probably be considered pranks, but apparently this spirit decided to take it to the next level.

Sam crept through the house, completely alert. There was something wrong…he knew it. Maybe the spirit was somewhere right now, just waiting for the right time to…

Suddenly, a loud sound that Sam knew immediately was heard throughout the house. It was a shotgun. Sam lifted his own shotgun in reflex, and looked to his father questioningly.

"It came from upstairs. Someone must be getting attacked," John shot out quickly, bounding up the stairs with Sam at his heels.

There was a loud clattering sound that came from the bedroom at the end of a hall. The sound was followed by a _thud_.

John and Sam burst through the door, shotguns raised. The first thing Sam saw was the spirit, pale and aglow, with stringy black hair streaming in every direction and a knife pointing threateningly at the other person in the room. Sitting on the other side of the room, beside a shattered blue vase, was Dean, who held up a book in one hand and his lighter in the other.

"Bad luck," he spat out, either not realizing that John and Sam were there, or simply ignoring them. He let the flame of his lighter catch the pages of the book. Dean threw the burning book into a metal wastebasket, and watched as the spirit disintegrated along with the book. It was only once it was over when he finally, slowly and carefully, raised his eyes to meet those of his brother's.

"Dean!" Sam cried out, going over to his brother and kneeling down. "Are you okay?" He didn't just mean after the hunt—he meant after all this time.

Dean stood up and brushed himself off. He idly began to pick shards of blue glass from the palm of his hand. "Uh, yeah, I'm good." And though he didn't show it on his face, he began to panic. He wasn't entirely sure why, but didn't have time to think about it. He walked past his father without even glancing at him and strode down the hall, and then down the steps. He held his arm close to his chest, Sam realized as he followed, his mind nearly blank. John only trailed behind, not saying a word—but Sam knew _that_ wouldn't last for long.

The second they all got outside, everything changed. Dean began to silently walk down the driveway, as if he really thought he could get away from them both without a second thought. In truth, that's what he really hoped would happen.

John caught up with his eldest and let his hand fall on Dean's shoulder. He felt Dean freeze up ever so slightly beneath his touch, but ignored it. "Dean."

Dean was silent.

Sam walked up to them both. "Dean, I need to talk to you…please?"

Dean glanced over his shoulder to his brother. "There really isn't much to talk about, Sammy," he said, his voice even.

"That is one hell of an understatement," John said roughly, making Sam nervous. "You disobeyed my order. I specifically _told_ you to go back and protect your brother, and _you_—"

"Dad, not now," Sam pleaded.

John shot him a look. "Then when is the right time, Sam? Tomorrow? Next week?"

"Not _now_," Sam repeated. "Dean, come with us, will you? I really want to talk with you about this…"

Dean kept silent, shrugging off his father's hand before the older man felt his rushing pulse.

John spun Dean around to face him. "You are coming with me and Sam. That's an _order_."

Dean looked down. "No," he muttered under his breath. "I…can't… I mean, I don't think…"

"You _can't_?!" John began, getting angry.

"Dad," Sam cautioned, shooting his father a warning look. He then turned his eyes on Dean. "Please, Dean…"

Dean tried to give him a smile. "Ha, Sammy, it sounds like you're trying to talk me out of suicide or something…"

"Well you don't have a choice," John told him, ignoring the smartass comment. "You're coming with us."

Dean shook his head. He really found it hard to say no to his father. "Fine. I have to get my stuff." And he kept walking. "I'm staying in the motel across the street. Just wait for me outside."

John let his eyes linger on his son for a moment. "Sam, go help your brother pack his stuff. I'll be around with the truck."

Once John left for the truck, Dean began to cough. After a few hoarse coughs, Sam came up to him, worried. "Dean, are you okay, man?"

"Oh, man, I can't believe I actually thought he trusted me," Dean got out between more hoarse coughs.

Sam's eyebrows creased. Could those hoarse coughs actually be _laughter_? He had _never_ in his _life_ heard Dean laugh quite like that.

Dean held his arm closer to his chest and quickened his pace. "Come on," he finally said tightly, the 'coughing fit' over and done with.

* * *

The second Sam walked through the door to Dean's room, all he could do was gape. Clothes, salt, weapons, bandages were strewn every which way, like a pack of insane poltergeists had stampeded thought the room.

Dean stripped off his shirt and grabbed a 'clean' one. He pulled it over his head and glanced at Sam. "Throw me those bandages, will yah?"

"Why?" Sam asked warily.

Dean slowly extended his left arm, revealing a long, nasty cut. "She got me."

Sam's eyes widened. "Yeah, and you think you can bandage that yourself?" He shook his head. "Sit down, you idiot."

Dean did so, holding out his arm. "Figured you'd want to take care of it."

Sam nodded absentmindedly and began to bandage his brother's arm, not ignoring the new scars he saw there. "So…about that spirit…"

"Yeah. Sarah Pickford. Lived in that house ten years back and refused to leave. There have been a lot of accidents lately. At first I thought it was the local 'psychic'. This kid actually turned out to be just a regular kid with a good intuition. What a jerk. He really acted suspicious for a while there, too… So anyway, I burned Sarah's bones, but I had come back to the house after that man got squashed by the chandelier—I assume that's how you and Dad heard about it—and I found out that Sarah had a diary that she had been _very_ close to, so I burned that tonight." When Sam was finished taking care of his arm, Dean stood up once more and began to pack. "There's been a lot of trouble in this area recently. I'm not surprised you and Dad came here. So I guess _I'm_ the idiot today."

"Oh, because you didn't ever want to see us again?" Sam inquired, not bothering to hide his anger. "Do you know how _worried_ I was about you? I _knew_ there was a good possibility that you were out there _dead_."

Dean shrugged, and was silent throughout the rest of the packing. When he finally finished, he hefted his bag and walked out.

YES, ANOTHER CHAPTER UP! After rewriting it, I felt a lot happier with it.. (you should have seen it BEFORE)

I want to update again asap... but i'll feel more motivated if someone reviews!

And anyone who's been waiting for my other supernatural story, Dark Places, i have good news. YOU WON'T HAVE TO WAIT MUCH LONGER! HA.

lol, please review, i haven't gotten any in a while now :)


	7. Chapter 7

Yay, I'm back again! So quickly too! It's amazing how I've gotten more story alert plusses for this story than reviews (for the last chapter). Oh well, I"m still happy. (gives everyone cookies!)

I rewrote this part just last night, and then watched some old school supernatural! When I thought of which one to watch, the first thing that popped up in my head was "Shadow". It not my all time favorite episode, but I was really happy to watch it. You see, here's a little story... (skip down to the ACTUAL story if you don't want to hear this) Okay. My brothers and I always watch Supernatural togther. We have since the first episode. So after seeing Shadow, we've always used the line "Hey, boys" (trying to sound like John, with his deep voice). Even my oldest sister, who doesn't watch as much as us but still loves the show comes home every now and then and says in an EXTREMELY deep voice, "HEY BOYS." Even to this day. Once my brother and I watched Shadow JUST to see the scene where John says that... I just don't know why... lol

well anyway, please enjoy the REAL story.

* * *

After Dean had checked out, he came out to his car. John had parked the truck in the adjacent parking space, and was there waiting for him.

"Sam, why don't you ride with—" John began, but Dean cut him off.

"You don't have to treat me like an escaped prisoner. I can handle myself fine, thanks."

"But, Dean…," Sam protested.

"Sammy, seriously. There's a bunch of shit on the passenger seat."

"Then clean it off," John said before turning back to his truck. "I'll follow you. We're going to Missouri's."

Dean tried to stifle his surprise. "So that's why… You were there the whole time, waiting for me, weren't you?"

Sam nodded. "I had a vision that you would come."

Sam's psychic powers seemed to be working against him more and more these days, Dean thought to himself. He didn't respond, but slipped into the driver's seat and started up the car, shoving the stuff on Sam's seat into the back. "Come on, Sam."

* * *

Dean drove in silence for the first time in months. It had all happened too fast. Sam _and_ John coming in and finding him like that… He couldn't even meet his father's eyes. He didn't know if it was because of guilt or because…

His thoughts trailed off as he listened to Sam shift uncomfortably in the passenger seat. His heart had been pounding in his chest ever since he spotted Sam. He'd never admit it, but he was kind of panicked. He couldn't fully explain why—maybe it was because he knew that they didn't need him, or maybe because he had avoided the very thought of them for the past five months. All he knew was that he was scared, and that he couldn't even find the strength to just run away from them again. He knew he could have. He knew he would have. But his body was in such a state of shock, he could barely even walk, much less run.

And he so wanted to stick around to make sure Sam was okay, at least. He had been worrying about him for five months. Constantly worrying.

But he couldn't show any of this. He needed to try his best to appear 'normal' for Sam.

_Old habits die hard,_ he thought to himself.

"Dean," Sam began, slowly, finally.

"What?"

"I…I'm…" Sam looked down, narrowing his eyes slightly. How hard could it possibly be? But it was strange. He didn't know if it was because he hadn't seen Dean in so long or if it was because he was nervous, but it was suddenly hard to talk to his brother.

Dean bit his lip. Yeah. He got it. He found it kind of hard to talk to Sam normally too. He just let it at that, and silence fell once more.

Dean rubbed his sore eyes. After the past few months, he had found himself getting tired more often than usual. He was so tired—not just the sleepy kind of tired, but in the world-weary way, too. He was _tired_ of the hunt, emotionally and physically. But he knew he needed to do this. Maybe after they took down _the_ demon, Sam could go back to school and be _normal_. That's what his brother always wanted, and he deserved it.

* * *

When Dean finally pulled into Missouri's driveway a little over forty-five minutes later, he got out of his car and shut the door behind him. After waiting for Sam to join him, he then waited for his father.

John pulled the truck in beside him and got out.

Sam practically pushed Dean towards the house. "Come on, let's go."

Dean tensed up for a second, but eventually followed Sam to the door. Before Sam could even knock, Missouri opened the door for him.

"Sam! I could hear your thoughts a mile away. I hear you found Dean." She looked over his shoulder to see Dean, looking down with his hands in his pockets. There was a good two days worth of beard on his face, but that wasn't what struck Missouri. It was…strange. The feeling she got from him…it was so different, and somewhat…hollow…

Sam saw how she seemed to freeze up, but Missouri caught his curious thoughts just in time and quickly recovered, inviting the Winchesters inside.

"I'll make us some coffee," she offered, sensing John's irritation and desire for something to drink.

"That'd be great, thanks," Sam replied with a smile. He turned around to see his father and brother in front of the couch. He frowned. Dad couldn't want to start a conversation _now._ They were all tired and irritable. Talking might spark an argument—and they really didn't need one of _those_.

"Dean," John began. "Dean, look at me."

Dean slowly brought his head up to look at his father. Suddenly, a flash of yellow eyes stared back at him, and he had to resist the urge to step back. The yellow eyes had come and gone, and all that was left was his father's brown eyes. John hadn't missed the flash of fear in his son's eyes, but chose to ignore it.

Dean's whole body froze, and his heart beat wildly. He clenched a fist. No, this wasn't right. Dad wasn't the demon. He wasn't possessed. He knew it. But why did he keep thinking that he'd meet yellow eyes instead of brown? Why was he so on edge? Why did he keep hearing all the words that the demon had said to him?

"Dean, you _left_ Sam. You left him in the middle of no where, where anything could get him. You disobeyed a direct order. We had _no idea_ where the hell you were. For all we knew, you could have died sometime in the past five months!"

"Dad, I—I never meant to leave Sam unprotected, but—"

"But what?" John demanded. "And what do you mean, you never _mean to?_ You left on your own. For no logical reason. You just _abandoned your brother!"_

Dean swallowed hard, dug up some strength and looked John in the eyes again. "Yes sir…"

"Why would you do something like that?!"

Dean gave a minute shake of his head and looked down again. He did not intend to answer that question. What could he possibly say? Anything that even came remotely close tot the truth would still be admitting that he had weaknesses. He couldn't, he wouldn't be weak in front of his father—and definitely not Sam. He was supposed to be strong, someone that his family could depend on. He was failing that even now…

And God, even after all those months, why was it that all he could see in his father's eyes was pits of yellow? It had been _so long_. Why were they still there?

_I can't be scared_, Dean told himself, trying to will his heartbeat down. _I can't let them see it…_

Missouri suddenly came back in, handing both John and Sam a mug. She cast a worried glance at Dean, and spoke up before John could. "Why don't you get some rest, Dean? You look tired."

"Um…" Dean trailed off at the look Missouri was shooting him. Okay. Missouri was doing him a favor here. "I, uh, think I'll take that offer. Thanks. I'll crash somewhere upstairs." And without waiting for a response, he left.

John was silent for a long time. He took a seat on the couch and gulped down some of his coffee. His eyebrows creased as he scowled. "I get the feeling," he began, looking to Sam, "that your brother is afraid. Of me."

Sam folded his arms across his chest. "You know what, Dad? I wouldn't blame him if he was. The last thing you said to him was that we didn't need him."

"It was—"

"—the demon, I know." Sam shook his head and sighed. "Still, it came from your mouth. I'd be scared too."

John snorted. "I must have been seeing things. Dean wouldn't let something like that scare him. But still…" He nodded to Sam. "When Dean wakes up, I want you to talk some sense into him. You're probably the only one he'll listen to right now."

Sam's eyes went wide. "Well…I…"

John arched a brow at him questioningly.

"I mean… He's different now, I can feel it. He feels different from before, Dad, like something changed. Like more…aloof…or…or…"

"He has a hollow feeling," Missouri supplied.

Sam and John turned their eyes on Missouri.

"Can't tell yah much more than that," Missouri went on. "I can only get so far into his mind before he throws me out."

"Throws you out?" Sam questioned.

"He puts up walls around his mind. Fronts. He distracts his mind so I can't read it. You see, I can only hear what people are thinking at that moment. But whenever I'm around, he suddenly begins thinkin' random thoughts."

John scratched the back of his head idly. "And you can't speak to him because…?"

"I'm afraid that I'll say the wrong thing…," Sam replied carefully. "And…I don't know if he'll really listen to me."

"Can't you at least try?"

After a moment, Sam nodded slowly. "Yeah, yeah, I guess I can…" And he began to walk away.

"Sam, honey, Dean's resting," Missouri reminded him.

"No he's not," Sam replied without stopping. Under his breath, he added, "He's hiding."

* * *

Dean sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing his forehead with one hand. Tired as he was, he couldn't get any sleep. Even when he was completely worn out, he was still restless. It was beginning to drive him crazy.

A moment later, the door creaked open. Dean didn't even have to look up to know it was Sam. Because John would have just swung the door open and Missouri would have knocked.

Sam slowly walked into the room and carefully sat next to his brother. It was a minute or two of silence before Dean glanced at him. It might have been three seconds before he cast his eyes downward again.

Sam shifted, looked at his brother and opened his mouth. No sound came out, so he closed his mouth again, trying to think of what to say.

"You know," Dean remarked quietly, breaking the silence, "you never had to think about what to say. You always used to say what was on your mind."

"I just wanted to talk…"

"Then talk."

"…You don't have to be afraid of him, Dean. He's…he's not possessed anymore," Sam whispered.

"Afraid? Sammy, he doesn't scare me," Dean replied evenly. "I'm…just not sure what to say to him. I can't really give him a logical explanation for why I left you. I barely even know why I left. You know how I can get when it comes to protecting…when it comes to protecting you and Dad."

"But, Dean… I mean, you just… I just want to know _why_. Is it because I said I didn't need you for the next hunt? Man, I was angry, and _you_ know how stupid I can be when I get angry. It was really stupid of me. I never meant that, I swear," Sam tried, his puppy eyes pleading.

But Dean knew better and didn't meet those eyes. He looked away, and his expression didn't change as he said, "I know that, Sam."

"…If it's not that, then what? Please…I… Talk to me, man…"

Dean rubbed his eyes tiredly. "There isn't anything else to say. I left. I came back. The only thing that happened in between was a hell of a lot of hunts."

"How many?" Sam asked warily, very aware of Dean's apparent weariness. He also noticed other little things. Like the extra scars that were there before. Like growing a day or two worth of beard just wasn't Dean's style. He noticed how Dean's shirt hung just a little too loosely, as if he hadn't gotten enough to eat. He saw how his brother's eyes had somehow gotten colder than they had been before. Staring at them was like staring at ice.

"I haven't really kept count," Dean said, a hard sarcastic tone biting at the edge of his words.

"Okay. Easier question: When _weren't_ you hunting? Did'yah take a break or something?"

Dean chuckled at his brother's words, shaking his head. "Hunting isn't something you take a break from. People _die_ during 'breaks'."

"That's not answering my other question."

"When I slept," Dean shot at him, throwing his brother a look that clearly said _drop it_. "Speaking of," he added before Sam could respond. "I'm worn out."

Sam bit his lip but nodded in acceptance. "Okay, man. We'll talk later." He lifted his hand and patted his brother on the shoulder—or he tried to, but Dean avoided his touch. Sam gave him a questioning look, but Dean only gave a tiny shrug, otherwise ignoring it and lying down, covering his eyes with his forearm.

Sam stifled a sigh and left the room. When he shut the door behind him, he stood there for a moment, realizing that his hands were trembling.

"How did it go?"

Sam nearly jumped at the sound of his father's voice from behind him. He turned and whispered, "He said that he's not afraid of you."

John nodded. "I knew as much."

Sam was silent for a long time, wondering if John really believed that Dean's fear was something that he had just thought up—something he had imagined. Sam would like to think that he knew his brother better than anyone, and he knew when his brother was afraid—even though fear wasn't something he often saw in Dean's eyes.

"Are you okay?" John asked worriedly, looking over his youngest. "Did he say something to you?"

Sam gulped. "Dad…he…Dean, I mean… Man, he's different. He's thin and pale and his _eyes_…" He shuddered. "And…and I just get this feeling from him that kind of…I mean, it kind of scares me."

John laid a reassuring hand on Sam's shoulder. "He's completely fine, Sam. The hunt's just been wearing on him a little. Believe me, I've looked like that a few times myself."

"Yeah, but this is different."

John didn't look like he believed him. "You should be getting to bed. It's pretty late."

Sam eventually nodded, and went down the hall to the room he was staying in.

Once Sam disappeared behind the door, John paused before the one in front of him. When Dean had said that he was going to crash upstairs, he had accidentally 'crashed' in the room that John had been staying in.

He eased open the door and crept inside. He spotted his son on his bed, arm over his eyes. John had decided to let Dean sleep there, and he only went into the room to grab a spare blanket so he could sleep on the couch downstairs. Maybe some clothes for the next day, too… He let his eyes linger on his eldest for a moment, but shook his head a moment later and went back to his mission.

"You don't have to sneak around, Dad, I'm not asleep."

John glanced back to the bed. Dean hadn't moved a muscle. "Just getting my stuff," he said.

The arm slid away from his eyes. "What? Is this your room?"

"It was, yeah."

Dean sat up, somewhat quickly. "Sorry, sir. I didn't mean to sleep here… I didn't know, I guess. You can sleep here. I'll move."

John shrugged. "I was just going to sleep on the couch," he replied as he showed Dean the blanket he had grabbed from the closet.

Dean sprang from the bed, strode over to John and carefully snatched the blanket from his father's hands. "Don't worry about it, I will. You were here first."

John shook his head. "Fine then." He watched as his son began to walk out the door, and called after him. "But don't think you're getting out of this so easily. We're having a talk tomorrow."

Dean froze for a split second, on the threshold. "Yes sir."

* * *

So I don't know when I'll get the next chapter up. Probably within a week if everything goes as planned.

It's actually pretty interesting to be rewriting this story. I started it TWO YEARS AGO. And I don't know when the last time I actually worked on progressing it. You see, the way I see it is, I'll rewrite it until I get to the point where I stopped before, and since my mind is all refreshed from rewriting it, I'll know what to write about next... Or at least, I hope so... Please wish me luck on that. lol. But it's okay, because there's still like, six more chapters to rewrite, so I've got time to think!

I hope you liked it. Please review! It makes me work faster!


	8. Chapter 8

YES, I am back with yet another chapter!

I don't think I have anything more to say up here except for I don't own Supernatural, and please enjoy the chapter!

* * *

Wide jade eyes scanned the room, only resting on the couch for but a moment. Dean wasn't tired anymore—or, he at least knew he wouldn't be able to fall asleep. And since he knew that, he didn't feel like trying. He hated feeling tired, trying to sleep and failing. He'd rather stay up all night long other than tossing and turning until he fell into a fitful sleep.

He threw the blanket on the couch and ran a hand through his hair. After a minute or two of debating, he decided he would just go do something else. The whole house was asleep by now. He knew it by the way it felt—cold and dead. It was pretty late, just a few hours past midnight, so Dean didn't expect anything less.

He stepped out of the house, careful not to make any noise. He made his way over to his car that rested in the driveway, and laid a hand on the Impala's sleek surface.

He couldn't stop the thought from crossing his mind, he really couldn't. It would be the perfect time to leave again.

He shook his head. _No,_ he told himself. _No. It won't happen again… It can't happen again… What if Dad wasn't there when I left Sam before? Sam…he'd… He probably would've…gotten hurt… If I leave him…I can't protect him… What if I leave, and something happens to him? What if something happens to Dad?_

Dean bit his lip. He had been worried throughout every minute when he was gone before. For all he knew, Sam could've been killed in those five months. He couldn't stand not _knowing_ if he was all right. He couldn't _stand_ the thought of Sam getting hurt by some evil son of a bitch.

He couldn't care anymore about what the demon said. He _needed_ to protect his family. He didn't want them to die. He didn't want to be left alone. He knew, deep down, that he always thought of what the demon had said to him. But now he couldn't care if it were true. He _couldn't_. If he cared too much about it, he might leave again. He needed to put his family above himself.

Dean shook his head with a sigh, turning his thoughts back towards his car. There had been one or two things that he would've liked to take care of with his car, but he hadn't had the time until now. And since he couldn't get to sleep, he could finally take care of those things. He didn't mind how the icy cold wind pummeled him, or how his very bones felt like ice. Yeah, it was as cold as hell, but he didn't care. He opened up the passenger door and dug out a flashlight. He then opened up the hood and got to work.

* * *

Sam awoke the next morning to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. He blinked his tired eyes and glanced at the clock beside his bed. _6:17_ _AM_.

After waking up some more and getting dressed, Sam went downstairs and found Dean in the kitchen, a mug of coffee in hand.

"What are you doing up, big brother?" Sam asked with a tired smirk. "I thought you weren't a morning person."

Dean shrugged. "Things change, I guess."

Sam couldn't help but to frown at this. He _had_ expected Dean to have some smartass comeback, and _this_ is all he got? "Sleep well?" he asked, somewhat suspiciously.

"Like a baby," Dean lied easily.

Sam nodded, leaving it. "Okay…"

"Yeah, and Missouri went out, so don't make any breakfast. She said that she's going to make us a batch of pancakes."

Sam gave a wide smile. "Nice."

Dean put down the now empty mug, perhaps a little too hard. "Yeah. Nice," he agreed a little absentmindedly. He looked around, and his eyes finally, if not hesitantly, met Sam's once again. "Dad's still sleeping?"

Sam nodded.

Dean's eyes slipped from his brother's as he let out a short breath. "Okay." He closed his eyes and rubbed his chin, his short beard scratching against his skin. He had noticed Sam giving him weird looks, and knew exactly what his brother was thinking. He'd have to shave today if he didn't want Sam to get too suspicious. He knew Sam pretty well, and he knew that his brother would get worried if he noticed any miniscule alteration. It was almost as if Sam thought, 'oh no, Dean didn't have that beard before! Something tragic and scarring must have happened to him!'. Dean snorted under his breath. He knew he was exaggerating, but not _that_ much. He just knew that Sam would insist that any change had occurred because something was wrong—and making Sam think there was something wrong with him was a matter Dean liked to avoid completely.

* * *

A half an hour later, Dean came back downstairs, refreshed from the shower and clean-shaven. Sam smiled at him as he sat down at the kitchen table, which was where a stack of pancakes waited for him. Missouri was still busy cooking, and John hadn't made an appearance yet.

Missouri turned around as he sat down. "Ah, I see you finally decided to shave. 'Cause you looked goofy with that beard of yours. Beginning to look more and more like your father every day."

Dean swallowed a gulp of his coffee, seeming to have some trouble, and only nodded to Missouri's comment.

As if on cue, John walked into the room, glancing at his boys for a moment before sitting down himself. "This looks great," he remarked upon seeing the pancakes.

Dean stared, wide-eyed, at his own pancakes. They _did_ look good, and smelt even better. He was urged to just savor the moment. How long had it been since he had actually gotten a home-cooked meal? A couple of years? More than that? He couldn't remember. All he recalled eating over the past few months was fast food and candy. It wasn't exactly the healthiest lifestyle, he knew Sam would remark, and maybe that was part of the reason why he found himself eating less and less.

And even if the pancakes in front of him looked delicious, he didn't feel like eating. He felt nauseous, like his stomach would reject any real food that he tried to force upon it.

Sam noticed the way his brother only stabbed at his pancakes, and was worried. How could Dean not be eating?

Missouri also threw a curious glance in Dean's direction, silently listening to Dean's currently unprotected thoughts.

_God, I don't know about this… Well maybe I can get out of it without Sam worrying… But, no, that wouldn't work… He'd think something was up if…,_ Dean's thoughts began to trail off as he looked up, as if he had felt Missouri's stare. The instant their eyes met, Missouri suddenly began to hear all about what to do when a werewolf attacks you. She frowned disapprovingly before returning to her meal.

Sam didn't bother trying to hide his worry, and it was only a minute or two before John looked up himself, sensing his son's unease. He glanced from Sam to Dean, chewing his pancake thoughtfully. He swallowed the pancake, and then said to Dean, "Missouri didn't make you pancakes just so you could try to stab them to death, Dean."

Dean didn't look up. "Sorry…"

"Eat up," John ordered.

Dean swallowed hard, looking down at the pancakes miserably and feeling sick. "Yes sir," he murmured before cutting himself a bite and carefully putting it in his mouth. He then chewed slowly, as if he were afraid that if he went any faster, he'd throw up right there, all over the table.

They were delicious, the best thing Dean had in who knows how long. They were precious little gifts, and he appreciated that Missouri had taken the time to make them. But as much as he wanted to enjoy them, he couldn't.

"Syrup?" Sam asked, looking suspicious, offering him the bottle.

Dean held up a hand in refusal and shook his head. Plain pancakes were enough to deal with. There was no use in slathering them with syrup.

Sam put the syrup down and frowned at his brother.

Dean looked up to him, eyebrows arched. "Will you quit frowning at me like I'm doing something wrong?"

Sam's frown deteriorated, and he ran a hand through the hair that Dean had always thought was too long. "I'm not…"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Right." He carefully ate a few more bites of his pancakes, until finally he was finished. He could have sighed in relief when his stomach didn't instantly revolt.

"Do you want any more?" Sam inquired, indicating the last two pancakes.

Dean looked at the remaining pancakes. He didn't think it was possible, but now he felt even worse than before. He was about to decline, but he caught a glint in his little brother's eyes. Would eating a few more pancakes really prove that he was okay? Did Sam really think that? Dean inwardly shook his head. He really didn't understand his brother sometimes.

"Sure," he managed to say, as he shot Sam an _I'm fine!_ look.

His stomach wasn't too keen on the thought of more food, but Dean ignored it the best he could. He needed to show Sam that he was okay.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Dean made sure no one saw him as he trudged his way to the bathroom. He closed and locked the door, and went over to the toilet. At once, he began to empty his stomach into it.

Again and again he heaved into it, relieving his body of those cursed pancakes. Beads of sweat began to form on his forehead, and he couldn't wipe it off until he was done, which was about five minutes later.

He sat on the floor, exhausted and his stomach feeling eerily empty. "God, I _hate_ it when that happens," he muttered to himself. It had been happening more and more these days. He didn't know if his stomach was trying to kill him by making him starve to death or if it was something else, but he didn't like it very much. Mostly because he liked food _in_ his stomach, and now that his stomach was rebelling against him, he didn't take kindly to even the thought of too much food. It just didn't sit well with him.

Well, as long as no one had heard his little 'episode', he was okay for the time being.

Dean scowled to himself. _I just had to have more. I just __had__ to prove I was okay._

He eventually pushed himself off the floor and flushed the toilet. And after washing his hands and rinsing his mouth, he left the bathroom.

It was only ten minutes later when he ran into Sam.

"Dean, you okay?"

Dean glared at him. "You know how much that question _bothers_ me? Every single time you say it, you're implying that I'm _not_ okay. I am fine. _Fine."_

"Fine, man," Sam replied tersely. "I was just asking because you look a little sick. Forgive _me_ for—"

"Well, Sam, you know—" Dean cut his brother off, but was only cut off himself.

"Boys, come here, will you?" came John's voice from the living room. "I need to discuss something with you." From his tone, Dean took this as something related to hunting.

He was not disappointed. When Sam and Dean entered the room, John stood up and looked to each of them in turn.

"I think I have a lead on the demon," he began slowly.

"That's great!" Sam exclaimed, instantly getting fired up.

John held up his hand to stop Sam's hopes from growing any further. "Not so fast. It's not that big of a lead, but it might be able to help me find out a way to kill it without the Colt. I want you two to continue with your own hunts, okay? I promise I'll call you when I get something more."

Sam scowled. After five months of working with the man, after five months of trust and cooperation, and this was all he got? "Why can't we all just follow the lead? It'd be easier if we were all there to investigate."

John closed his eyes for a moment. "Sam, you have to understand. You heard what the demon said. It wants _you_, son. If I somehow meet up with it on this lead, I don't want you to be there without us being prepared. I _promise_, when we're better prepared, I'll call."

Sam bit his lip. He couldn't exactly argue with the man. Well, actually, he could, but decided against it. "Fine…," he mumbled.

Dean looked away. "Okay then. We'll leave tomorrow morning, after breakfast."

John was silent, just staring at his eldest. Dean didn't look back, but John knew his look wasn't going unnoticed.

* * *

Writing this chapter for the first time (which was probably a year and a half ago) changed me. Yes. It CHANGED me. Because after writing this chapter, my brother made pancakes. And I looked at them. And I kept thinking of what I just wrote. And I felt sick, and I couldn't eat his pancakes! AHH! And ever since then, I would always feel sick whenever he made pancakes. I could eat Mom's pancakes, Grandma's pancakes, and pretty much any other pancakes, except for my brother's. I couldn't eat them without feeling sick. How terrible is that?

Well, anyway, I hope to have the next chapter up within a week. So please stay tuned!

And, um, reviews are rewarded with cookies. Yes. COOKIES. If, somehow, someway, I get ten reviews this time, I'll update the day after I get the tenth review. (out of sheer happiness) lol.


	9. Chapter 9

Hi, everyone, I'm back! Okay, so I got 9 reviews for this chapter. But I also got a review for chapter three, and one for chapter four. But since that's still technically ten, I'm here with another chapter! And it's even early, since I got the tenth review today and I said I'd update the day AFTER I got my tenth review. But lucky you, you get it early! w00t. lol.

Thank you everyone who reviewed! You all are the best!

And no, I still don't own Supernatural. After all this time! Nothing has changed.

* * *

The next morning, no one seemed to notice that Dean was only going for a plain piece of toast for breakfast. The reason no one noticed his lack of appetite was because Sam, the ever-observant brother, was packing their stuff away in the Impala, and wasn't around.

Sam did come back inside, and nodded to him. "Okay, we're all set." He then turned to Missouri. "Thanks for letting us stay here."

Missouri smiled. "I don't mind, honey. Just promise to come on back."

"We will," Sam agreed.

Dean beckoned to Sam. "Come on, let's go." And without waiting for an answer, he quietly strode outside. Sam took advantage of his long legs and easily caught up with his brother, staying a step or two behind him.

The brothers were about halfway to the car when they were stopped by their father's voice.

"Wait up!" John walked over to the boys. "Good luck." He clapped a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Going to miss having you around to watch my back, Sammy."

Sam smiled. "Thanks, Dad."

John turned to Dean. "Dean, I need to talk with you."

Dean nodded. He knew what this was about. "Sam, wait for me in the car."

Before Sam could argue, John shot him a warning look. And as much as he didn't like it, Sam turned away and walked towards the car, but intending to keep an eye on the other two.

John waiting until he saw Sam get into the car and shut the door before he demanded attention from Dean. "Dean… Just tell me why you left."

"I don't know, Dad…," Dean replied carefully, shivering slightly in the cold winter air. "I guess the last hunt just left me winded, or something…" It was a response he had thought about a little—it was something that was supposed to be believed, and yet it still sounded so stupid. There were a million other answers that would have been better…

John shook his head in disbelief. "Fine, don't tell me why. Just don't _ever_ do it again. I just don't get it. You _know_ how important protecting Sam is. We know now that the demon is after _him._ If something were to happen to him…" He shook his head. "You understand?"

"Yeah, I do," Dean mumbled, looking to the ground.

"Dean, look at me!" John ordered.

Dean did as he was told, standing more firm this time.

"This is important! Sam must be protected!" John said angrily, jabbing a finger at Dean's chest. "Promise me you'll keep him safe!"

"I promise, sir. Nothing's going to happen to him while I'm there," Dean replied, evenly.

John was silent for a long time.

Dean was confused for a second. Didn't Dad believe him? "I promise," he repeated, sounding desperate. "I won't let anything hurt him! I _promise!_"

John's expression didn't change. "Good. You take care of him now. I'll talk to you boys soon." And with that, he turned and went back inside.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck in irritation. He really had felt like yelling just then.

"_You __know__ how important protecting Sam is. We know now that the demon is after __him.__ If something were to happen to him… You understand?"_

_Of course I understand! _He wanted to yell. _Of course I know protecting Sam is the most important thing in the world! I know that it's my job! I know I shouldn't have run and left him unprotected! And you should know that I would die before I let something happen to him!_

He was glad he hadn't yelled, though. Getting into an argument with Dad was never a smart thing. And he never wanted Sam to feel the same way he always had when Sam and Dad were fighting.

Dean exhaled, before walking over to the car, opening the door and climbing in. He sat there for a moment, thinking hard.

"What'd he tell you?" Sam asked.

Dean let out an amused breath and gave Sam a half-smile. "He, uh, said to be careful, and that he loved us," he said sarcastically.

Sam looked away. It definitely didn't _look_ like their father was saying anything nice to Dean, and that only made him worry. "What did he really say?"

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Fine, he said he loved _you_." He shrugged. "Same difference, right?"

Sam shot him a look. "No, really. What did he say?"

"Nothing really," Dean muttered, starting up the car and pulling out of the driveway.

"It looked important," Sam remarked.

"It's not really anything that you need to know, Sammy."

Sam frowned. It seemed to him that he didn't _need_ to know anything. "If he said something bad to you…"

Dean forced a smile for him. "Nah, it's not like that. He's only worried about you."

Sam froze for a moment. "So he said—wait, no, he _ordered_—you to keep me safe, didn't he? You know, I get him wanting me to be safe and all, but he doesn't have to yell at _you_ to make sure I don't get hurt."

Dean shrugged again. "Yeah, well, it's nothing new. I _know_ I have to protect you… I've known for twenty-three years."

Sam glanced at him for a moment, looking hurt.

Dean's eyes widened in confusion. How could Sam give him that face when he only said that he'd protect him? What was so wrong with that?

Sam looked down. "Dean… You spend so much time looking after me or hunting, you barely have time for yourself." Sam paused when he saw his brother's _that's a load of crap_ look. "I guess I'm just saying that I kind of feel guilty. If it wasn't for me, you'd… I mean, you wouldn't be hunting, you wouldn't be looking after me. You'd have a life."

"Is that your nice way of saying, 'get a life, Dean'?" Dean questioned with a smirk.

Sam shook his head. "No, man. It's my way of saying that I can protect myself. Don't worry about me."

Dean's smirk disappeared, and he suddenly found that he definitely should be watching the road and not the changes on his brother's face. "Sorry, I forgot," he said, easily faking his 'normal' tone of voice. "I know you don't need me to protect you anymore." He gave a half-smile. "Sam, man, I must be getting old. I'm already beginning to lose my memory."

Sam eyebrows creased, picking up on what Dean was thinking about. "There's just no hope for you, is there?"

Dean gave him a quick, vague look before staring back at the road.

"'Cause I must have told you a million times—the demon was _lying_ when it said that we didn't need you. Would you really believe it over me?"

"Do you even have to ask?"

Sam smiled in relief.

"Of course I would believe it over you."

Sam's mouth fell open as he gaped at his brother, his heart tearing out as he realized how much this had—

Dean frowned at Sam's expression. "Sam, dude, I'm joking. You weren't supposed to _believe_ that."

Sam glared and punched his brother in the arm, hard. "You're a real jerk, you know that?!"

Dean mirrored Sam's glare. "Sam, you idiot! _Don't_ hit me when I'm driving! That hurt, y'know? I was only _kidding_…!"

"Don't joke about things like that!" Sam reprimanded. "That's really sick!"

Dean rubbed his arm. "Fine, fine, I won't! Jesus, Sammy, you're so sensitive!"

Sam folded his arms across his chest and kept an angry silence. "Friggin' jerk."

Dean shook his head to himself and popped in a cassette tape, hoping that the music would at least drown out the angry aura that Sam was shooting out. He cranked up the volume and closed his eyes for a moment when the notes began to sound from the speakers. Unfortunately for him, he could only listen to his music for a minute or two in peace before Sam irritably cut in.

"Do you have to listen to it so loud?" he asked. "I'm surprised your ears don't bleed. Or that you haven't been arrested for disturbing the peace."

"Dude, you're the only one disturbing the peace right now," Dean muttered. He almost forgot that now that Sam was with him, there was a volume limit again. He turned it down to 'Sammy level' without another word, and went back to driving.

"Did you find anything that needs to be killed?" Dean asked tightly as the song ended. The moment Sam had learned that they would be leaving, he had been glued to the laptop.

Sam shook his head. "No, nothing recent. I searched for the internet for hours, but I couldn't find anything that sounded like our kind of job."

"Fine. Then the next stop is a motel."

* * *

That night, Sam lay in the motel bed, arms cradling his head. He stared at the ceiling blankly. It was late, he knew he should be sleeping. He could hear Dean's restless movements in the other bed, and knew his brother was having trouble as well. Which was strange, since Dean usually just fell into bed and grabbed what sleep he could, not budging until the next morning—or afternoon.

He also got the feeling that things between him and his brother weren't…weren't quite right. Sam wasn't sure what was wrong—Dean like to hide things, that Sam knew for sure—but he was sure he would figure it out soon enough.

When Sam awoke the next morning, he wasn't surprised to find Dean still sleeping. He yawned, and stretched to relieve his body of its tired aches.

He took a quick shower, dressed, and then realized there wasn't anything for breakfast. Sam had noticed earlier that there was a small convenience store just down the street, so he decided to go there and pick some up.

He scribbled Dean a note, knowing his brother wouldn't like it if he just disappeared—especially after the Bender incident.

_Be back soon,_ he promised to his sleeping brother, before slipping out the door.

Dean cracked open his eyes, ignoring the urge to close them again. The sunlight that was streaming through the window seemed to burn at his eyes, and he put a hand up to block it out. He slowly pulled himself up into a sitting position, rubbing his eyes. Last night really sucked. He didn't know how long he stayed up, wide awake. All he wanted to do was sleep, and even something as simple as that wouldn't be granted to him.

"So you finally decided to get up, huh?"

Dean turned to Sam's voice, and saw his brother chewing on what appeared to be a bagel.

Sam saw him eyeing his food, and took another bagel out of a bag. "Want one? They're good."

Dean shook his head.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Of course not. That's not unhealthy enough for you." Sam dug out something else, and tossed it in his brother's direction.

Dean snatched it from the air. It was a familiar yellow bag of Peanut M&Ms. As much as he loved them, he really didn't feel like eating them at the moment. He had eaten them so much over the past few months. Why? Because all he needed to do was pick them up and eat them in the car. He didn't have to waste his time sitting down at a diner or something. But right now, just looking at them made him feel like he was wasting time. Maybe it was because he had been on overdrive those five months. He definitely had a lot less patience…

He threw the bag back at his brother. "I'm not hungry."

Sam frowned. "Yeah, right. You barely ate yesterday. You always eat a _lot_."

"I told you, I had a big breakfast yesterday," Dean told him. "I'm just not hungry right now. I just woke up, man."

"Fine… But don't you come whining to me when you start getting hungry."

"Dude, I don't _do_ whining," Dean protested.

Sam shrugged and flipped open the laptop. "Right…"

Dean shook his head, standing up and trudging into the bathroom. Sam soon heard the shower water running.

It was only a half an hour later when Dean's cell phone began to ring. Dean came out of the bathroom, fully clothed, to Sam's relief, and picked up the phone, flipping it open and pressing it to his ear.

"Hello?" After a minute, Dean nodded. "Yeah, sure, how could I forget?" There was a long pause, where Dean just listened carefully. He then nodded again. "Okay, okay, don't worry about it. My brother and I…" He trailed off for a second. "Yeah, my brother. We'll be there tomorrow, okay? ……Uh-huh, no problem. Bye." And he hung up.

"Who was that?" Sam asked.

Dean shoved some of his things into his duffel bag. "Switchburg, Virginia. A few weeks ago, a girl was murdered. Apparently, the girl looked like he had been literally ripped to shreds." He motioned for Sam to get up. "Well, come on, I said we'd be there by tomorrow, didn't I? We gotta move it."

Sam began to pack up as well. "Yeah, okay, but who was it that called?"

"Patricia Wilson. I helped her out with something two or three months ago," Dean replied, not sounding like he wanted to go into the details.

Sam ignored Dean's tone. "So…a woman?"

Dean glared. "It's not like that, Sam. She was married before the thing I hunted there killed her husband." He slung his bag over his shoulder. "Check us out, will yah?" Before waiting for a response, Dean stepped out.

Yeah, just to make this clear, this lady that they're going to be meeting... well, for once, Dean tells the truth and it's NOT anything lovey dovey or anything. lol. no way in hell. lol. no pairings for the boys in this story. whooo

* * *

How about we do the same thing as last time? ten reviews, and an update the next day? twenty gets you two updates. WAIT WAIT WAIT, I'm getting way ahead of myself. Lol. Ten gets you an update the following day. Otherwise, I'll just update sometime within a week.

Ah, but I'm eternally happy. 59 people have this story on story alert! (that's a record for me, haha) I think it's amazing that 59 people get an email every time I update. And this story is even in a C2 archive. (when did that happen??) It's joined my other Supernatural story, which is in the same archive... cool. lol

Sooo, wannanother chappie? there's a really cute purplish button down there, and his name is Popo. (I don't know why, but his name is Popo now. He's the leave a review button, and he lives to be clicked on)


	10. Chapter 10

I'm back! Wow that was fast. A little too dang fast... No, I'm just kidding! This is a nice long chapter, so I hope you like it! Popo is THRILLED with how many clicks he recieved! Popo even LEFT A REVIEW! AHH! That's amazing! Lol.

Thank you everyone for the really nice reviews! I loved every single one of them and I'm just so happy right now! lol.

So I figured that it was time for a hunt, since the boys haven't really had one in a while... It's not very long, just a little story arc. Then, after that... Well I had some aftermath with it, and not too long after, I stopped! So I have to start thinking of what to do next. But thanks to reviews and such, I already have a few ideas. YES.

So here's the next chapter. I STILL don't own Supernatural. Oh, and Switchburg is a fake town. (if anyone was wondering) I just hope there's not a real one... lol, at least not in virginia...

please enjoy!

* * *

After the long trip to Virginia, Dean maneuvered the Impala through Switchburg. It was a nice little town, from what Sam could tell. It was comfortably secluded—not out in the middle of nowhere or surrounded by big cities. Just a quiet equilibrium.

Dean seemed to know the town pretty well. His eyes were blank, though, as if lost in thought. Before Sam could ask him about it, though, they pulled into a small driveway that led to a tiny house. It was pretty, with a white picket fence and flower beds in front of the house that probably would've been filled to the brim with blooming plants if it had only been spring. It looked so…normal. Sam found it so…interesting.

Dean looked over to his brother, instantly knowing what he was thinking. "This place…drives me insane with its normality," he remarked dryly, before climbing out of his car.

Sam and Dean both made their way to the front door, but before they could even make it halfway there, the door flung open.

Sam, hunter's instincts flaring, stopped in his tracks. He knew it. It was _too_ normal.

But out of the house, little dark-blond curls streaming, sprinted a little girl. She must have been only four or five years old—cute too.

"Uncle Dean!" she announced happily, running up to Dean and hugging his legs tightly.

Sam choked back a laugh. "'Uncle Dean'?!" he snorted.

Dean frowned at his brother. He then turned to the girl and patted her on the head. "Okay, okay, I missed you too, Emma." He jerked a thumb over in Sam's direction. "That's my baby brother, Sammy."

Emma walked slowly up to Sam and looked up, up, up even higher to finally reach his face with her wide blue eyes. "Wow!" she exclaimed in awe. "You're so _big_ Mr. Sammy! Can you touch the clouds?"

Dean chuckled at Sam's face after being called _mister_ and _Sammy_. He then came up to Emma from behind and scooped her up, making her squeal in delight. "His head is in the clouds, all right."

"Mommy said that you'd come today! I got up _real_ early and waited!"

"Wow," Dean told her. "But hey, I don't think your mommy would like it when she sees you ran outside without any shoes on."

Emma wriggled her toes. "S'okay! My feet'll get warmed up when I go back inside!" She smiled up at Dean, but then her smile began to fade. "Uncle Dean, are you here because of Julie? All the kids at school say that a monster got her!" Her little face scrunched up and she looked away. "Is it the monster that took Daddy away?"

Dean shook his head. "No," he told her. "No, I got rid of that monster, remember?"

Emma nodded. "Yeah… But why did a monster take away Julie? She was my bestest friend…"

Dean didn't know how to answer that, but wiped a stray tear from Emma's face with his thumb. "Don't worry about it, okay? I'll fix it."

Emma smiled again, and looked to Sam. "Last time, Uncle Dean got rid of the monster in my closet!" she pronounced proudly. "I was really scared… And I thought it was going to eat me and Mommy. My mommy was really scared too… She cried a lot. But Uncle Dean came and made it go away! He can do _anything_!"

"Whoa, don't get too ahead of yourself, kiddo." He began back towards the house again. "Come on, let's go find your mom." He and Sam reached the door, and Dean peered inside. "Patricia?"

"Come on in!" a voice called back.

Dean stepped inside and put Emma down, noticing the smirk that was plastered all over Sam's face. He glared at his brother. "What?!"

"It's just really funny," Sam commented. "It's like you're a successful father coming home for work… Except you're _Uncle Dean_. _Uncle_… Uncle, haha."

"Hey, at least I'm not _Mr. Sammy!"_ Dean shot back irritably. "It sounds like you're a sexual predator or something!" He hissed on a lower note, so Emma wouldn't hear him.

A woman came up to them, her hair color matching her daughter's, but instead of blue eyes, hers shone a pretty shade of green. She looked like she was in her late thirties or so. "Dean, God, I'm glad you could come." She looked over to Sam, nodding. "And this must be your brother…ah…"

"Sam," Sam introduced, shaking her hand. "And I gotta say, the last thing I expected when I came here was when your little girl called my brother Uncle Dean."

Patricia smiled and led them into what appeared to be a kitchen. "Yes… After Dean helped us with the thing that was in Emma's closet, she saw him as her hero. She just began to call him her uncle right out of the blue." She offered the brothers a drink, and both gratefully accepted. "But I guess you've been busy, right? I've tried calling you before, but you didn't answer."

Dean frowned. He never really checked his phone that often, so it was possible that he had gotten a couple of missed calls… He should have checked it sooner. "Sorry," he apologized.

Patricia shook her head. "It's okay. Nobody's been killed or anything since then."

Emma was bouncing up and down with excitement, not listening to the conversation. "Uncle Dean's back, Uncle Dean's back," she sang. "I'm so happy! All of Uncle Dean's ouchies are gone!"

Sam glanced at her for a fleeting moment.

"So what happened with this girl?" Dean asked, bringing Sam back to their conversation.

"Julie was one of Emma's friends. A few weeks ago, Julie was over at Sophie's house for a sleepover—oh, Sophie is another one of Emma's friends. While the girls were there, something attacked them and killed Julie… Sophie's father tried to help them, but he didn't get there in time…" Patricia shook her head sadly, and then lowered her voice. "I heard that the poor girl was _ripped to shreds_, as if whatever attacked her was a wild animal or something. I just thought it was something you could handle."

Dean nodded slowly. "Okay… So I think we should start by talking with Sophie. Maybe she knows what happened."

"Oh, you guys just got here. You both look beat. Why don't you take a rest first? There are two guest rooms upstairs that you can use."

Sam nodded gratefully. "Thank you…" And he led the way upstairs, not giving Dean the chance to argue. When they went upstairs, they did find two empty rooms, right next to each other.

"Which one do you want?" Dean asked, his voice impassive.

Sam shrugged. "Doesn't matter." His face lit up with a mischievous smile. "Man, I wish I could've seen the look on your face when that little girl first called you Uncle Dean!"

"Just shove it, okay? It's not my problem. The thing that killed that other little girl—_that's_ my problem. I don't want to see another one of your friggin' smirks while we're here, okay?" Dean eased open the door on the left. "Beat it, Mr. Sammy. Two hours of rest, then we go to Sophie's house."

Sam scowled, hoping this new nickname wouldn't stick. "It's just _Sam_…," he grumbled as Dean closed the door in his face.

* * *

Sam awoke about an hour later to the creaking of his door. He cracked open one eye and watched the door open, then stop. He didn't see anyone come in, but he heard shuffling. It was on the floor, whatever it was. And he couldn't see the floor from where he was.

Quietly, he pushed himself up, so he could see what was making that noise.

His muscles instantly relaxed when he saw Emma crawling across the room.

"Emma," he said.

She jumped and stared at him. "Ah, ah, Mr. Sammy, I'm sorry. I left my Barbie's shoe in here and I needed it…" She looked down. "Sorry."

Sam smiled at her. "It's okay, I don't mind." He was silent for a moment, and then, "Hey, Emma, come up here for a second, will you? I have a question to ask."

Emma, puzzled, hopped onto the bed and waited.

"You said before that all of Dean's…uh, 'ouchies'…were gone."

Emma nodded. "Yep."

"Did Dean come here with lots of…'ouchies' the last time he was here?"

Emma nodded once more. "Uncle Dean had lots of ouchies. Mommy thought he was a…a…um…dumb."

"A dumb?" Sam repeated, confused.

Emma shook her head, realizing that wasn't right. "She thought he was a…bum. A bum."

Sam couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, a _bum_."

"He had ouchies on his arms and his hands and his knees. And he wasn't even crying!"

Sam bit his lip worriedly.

"And then Uncle Dean saved us from the monster! The monster went like _whoosh!_" She threw her hands up into the air. "And he made all the furniture come alive! The furniture was bad and tried to hurt me and Mommy, but Uncle Dean protected us! But then Uncle Dean went _boom!_ and the monster ran away and the furniture turned good again."

"Did Dean tell you what the monster was?"

"Yep! He told Mommy that it was a poker ghost!"

Sam creased his eyebrows in confusion. "A poker ghost? Do you mean just a plain ghost?"

Emma shook her head. "No! Uncle Dean said _poker ghost_."

Sam was about to question her again, but the little girl went on.

"Uncle Dean got lotsa bruises from fighting the poker ghost, but I helped him! I put ice on them and said that he was a good boy because he didn't cry!"

Sam smiled. "Well, thank you for telling me, Emma."

Emma climbed off the bed and picked up something from the floor. "Barbie's shoe!" She waved to Sam before leaving. "Have a good sleepy, Mr. Sammy!"

* * *

A little over an hour later, Dean got directions to Sophie's house, and he and Sam got into the car and began to drive there. It was only five or ten minutes away.

"So, Dean," Sam began. "What did you hunt last time you were here?"

Dean gave him a _why is that important__?_ look.

"Hey, man, I'm just curious."

"It was a poltergeist. Pretty damn nasty one, too."

The second the words left Dean's mouth, Sam realized. _Poker ghost_, he thought with an inward laugh. _Little kids have a language of their own._

When the brothers arrived at Sophie's house, he and Sam met Peter Hammerstone, who was Sophie's father.

"We're investigating the murder," Dean said in his most official voice, to a man who looked like he was well in his forties. "And we were wondering if you could tell us what happened."

Peter shook his head wearily. "I honestly don't know for sure. I had just put the girls to sleep… And the next thing I knew, they were screaming. By the time I got to them, whoever did it was gone, and little Julie was…" He looked off into the distance, a sigh falling from his lips. "I can't believe this would happen… We only just moved in a few months ago, and already…" His voice trailed off.

"Is it possible to talk with your daughter?" Sam asked gently.

Peter was silent for a moment. "I don't know if she'll want to talk—she's been so quiet lately. But you can try. She's over there, on the swing set." He raised a hand to point a long finger in the direction of the swing set, where Sam and Dean could see a little blond-haired girl, sitting on the swing, rocking back and forth.

Dean nodded his thanks to the man, and he and Sam went over to Sophie.

Dean crouched down beside the swing. "Hey, Sophie."

The little girl looked up, hazel eyes looking eerily haunted for one so young. "…I…I know you…"

Dean's eyebrows creased. "You do?"

Sophie nodded. "You were at my school. I saw you come to get Emma… You're her uncle Dean, right? She says that you're really nice."

Dean cleared his throat nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, I, uh…"

Sam smiled, but got back on the original subject. "Sophie, can you tell us what happened to your friend a few weeks ago?"

Sophie looked down, and bit her lip. "I-I just wanted to have a sleepover with Julie. It was supposed to be fun… Like when the older girls have sleepovers. But when it got dark out, this-this _monster_ came and hurt Julie! It was too scary, and I hid in the closet. When I came back out, the monster was gone, and-and Julie was-was…" She squeezed her eyes shut and gripped the swing.

"I'm sorry," Sam apologized. "We're just trying to find out what happened, so we can make sure that it doesn't happen again. Thank you very much for telling us. You did a good job."

Sophie nodded slowly. "I'm just scared. The monster… It won't go away! It always comes back! Daddy says it'll go away, but…"

"Sophie," Peter said, and Sam and Dean turned to look at him.

Sophie fell silent.

"What is she talking about?" Dean asked.

Peter shook his head. "She's been having nightmares since that night. She thinks that the 'monster' will keep coming after her… But please… I think she's had enough."

The brothers nodded, and then left.

* * *

Sam typed search inquiries into the laptop as fast as he could. The tapping of the keyboard was about to drive Dean up the wall, and it had only been ten minutes. Sam was sitting at a desk in Patricia's living room, and Dean had made himself comfortable in the nearby chair. He felt a little awkward just sitting there watching Sam. He wanted to at least be cleaning his guns or sharpening his knives, but he wouldn't do that with Emma around.

"What do you think it could be?" Sam wondered. "It must be some sort of creature… Like Daevas or something along those lines? I mean, from what we've heard so far, this girl was pretty torn up."

"No, we probably would have heard if the heart was missing, right? And besides, you know Daevas need to be summoned by someone else. _And_ the fact that Sophie seemed to have _seen_ whatever killed Julie—maybe even more than once."

Sam sighed. "Yeah… I know… Just a thought."

Dean massaged his temples, trying to will away his headache. "Yeah, I know, Sam…"

Emma then hopped into the room—the girl sure seemed to like bouncing—and climbed up on Dean's lap. "Whatcha doing?"

Sam couldn't help but smile. He really did think Emma was cute. And the way she looked up to Dean was really cute too.

"Trying to find out what this thing is," Dean replied. "So we can make it go away."

Emma frowned. "Are you okay, Uncle Dean? You don't look right." She was then struck with an idea. "I know! You need to smile more, Uncle Dean. Mommy says it's good for you."

Dean really couldn't think of smiling at that moment, but tried anyway.

Emma shook her head, easily seeing that it was a fake. "Not like that!" She wriggled her fingers and tried to tickle Dean, to hopefully make him laugh. She tickled him furiously, but when she looked up to his face to check her progress, she was shocked to see that there was no change. "No fair!" she exclaimed. "You're not ticklish!"

Dean smiled for real this time, amused by Emma's frustration. "I'm not, but I _know_ you are." And he began to tickle her in return, and kept tickling until Emma squealed with laughter.

"Uncle Dean! Stop it!" she squealed.

"Hey, you guys!" Patricia called from the other room. "Dinner's ready!"

Dean finally stopped tickling Emma, and picked her up, motioning for Sam to follow him into the kitchen.

Sam stared at him for a moment. Dean—his _brother_, Dean—holding a little kid, playing around with a little kid. It was so _weird_ to see something like that. It really was almost like he was a father. Dean probably would make a good father, Sam decided.

But what was strange though, was that over the past few hours, all it had really been was normality. Sam was beginning to feel a little awkward. He was good with normal, sure, but it sure was a change of pace. And he knew that Dean hated it much more than he did. Normality was something Sam could handle, something he accepted. But Dean?

Sam sat down at the table. On the plate in front of his was pork chops, mashed potatoes, and some corn. Sam couldn't help but smirk at his brother across the table. "Hey, do you even know what this is?" He pointed to his plate. "This is what's _really_ considered healthy. This is _real food_."

Dean glared at him. "Yeah, Sam, I know that."

"Oh! Mommy! Today in school, we learned all about animals!" Emma announced happily. "We learned about tigers and bears and fishes and woofs and—"

"Wolves, honey," Patricia corrected.

Emma nodded in agreement. "Yeah, woofs. But my favorite was when we talked about birdies!" And she went on to explain what she had learned.

Sam chewed on a bite of pork chop—which was really good, by the way—thoughtfully. _Let's see. It must be some creature… The last attack was back in December, a few weeks ago. So maybe… Well, if I knew __when__ Julie was attacked…_ He looked up again. "Mrs. Wilson, do you know what date it was when Julie was killed?"

Patricia thought about it for a moment, but then said, "I'm pretty sure it was December fifth. Though I didn't even know about it until the next week…"

"That was a night with a full moon," Sam stated, sure of himself.

Dean shot him a look from across the table. "So, what, a werewolf? And you know it was a full moon that night just off the top of your head?"

"And this is _why_ I know the lunar cycle," Sam stated, somewhat defensively. "It's gotta be a werewolf… And if I'm right, then whoever it is will transform again on"—Sam paused for a moment—"January third."

Dean shook his head. "That's _tomorrow_, Sammy."

"Wait a minute," Patricia interrupted, eyes wide. "You're trying to tell me that you think this is a _werewolf? _An _actual_ werewolf?"

"Yes…," Sam drew out slowly. "Do you know if anything like this has happened before, Mrs. Wilson?"

Patricia blinked a few times, looking flustered. "Well…not that I know of, no… There was a missing person back in October that was never found, but other than that… I mean…" She ran a hand through her hair. "Other than that, I can't think of anything…" She sighed. "First the poltergeist and now this…"

Dean looked off to the left, deep in thought. He then glanced at Patricia. "When we talked to Peter Hammerstone, he mentioned that he had moved in a few months ago. When exactly was that?"

"Um, August, I think," Patricia replied. "But what does that have to do with anything?"

"Think about it," Sam said, picking up on what his brother was thinking. "Julie _was_ at Sophie's house the night she was murdered. And Peter said that he couldn't get there in time to save Julie—which could've been a cover-up. He probably transformed once the full moon came out, and had unknowingly attacked Julie. He probably would have attacked his own daughter if she wasn't hiding."

"He probably doesn't even know that he's a werewolf," Dean mumbled. He paused, and then frowned. "Hey, Em, why don't you go off and play?"

Emma gave him a toothy grin and bounced out of her chair and left the room.

Patricia stared after her daughter, and then her eyes returned to Dean's. "I don't know how you do it."

Dean's eyebrows creased in confusion. "Do what?"

"When it comes to 'grown-up' conversations, Emma can be such a pain to get rid of. Not to mention that she hates when anyone calls her 'Em'. She only lets _you_ call her that." She shook her head. "I just don't know how you do it."

Dean looked down. "I don't know either."

Sam gave his brother an amused smile. "Come on, man, you're obviously the kid's hero."

Dean snorted. "I didn't do that much. But she should be out of the room anyway…" He cleared his throat. "But anyway, if Peter really is the werewolf, then when he transforms tomorrow, he could hurt someone else—like Sophie."

"It sounded like Sophie knew about this when she was talking before. This monster that keeps coming back could just be her father transforming every month," Sam pointed out. "Maybe she knows that she has to hide."

"Well, that doesn't matter. We have to go there when Peter transforms and…," Dean's voice trailed off.

Sam bit his lip. "Yeah… I guess we do."

Dean clenched his fists. "I hate it when this happens," he said in disgust. He pushed himself out of his chair. "Excuse me." And he left the room, until all Sam could hear was his brother's retreating footsteps.

"Are you sure that Peter is this…a…werewolf?" Patricia asked Sam, looking uncertain.

Sam gave a half-hearted shrug. "To be completely honest, I'm not one hundred percent sure. But it looks like it." He rubbed his chin, thinking about the matter on hand. "Mrs. Wilson—"

"Please," Patricia began, cutting him off. "Your brother is like a part of the family, which means you are too. Please call me Patricia."

Sam smiled warmly. "Okay. Patricia… Do you happen to have Peter's phone number?"

Patricia nodded. "Yes, I do."

Sam took out his cell phone. "Can you please give it to me?"

Patricia did so, and Sam punched in the number promptly and held his phone to his ear.

"Hello?" answered Peter's voice on the other end of the line.

"Hello, Mr. Hammerstone. This is Sam Hamill. My partner and I came to your house today about the investigation of Julie Ridgebrook's death. I just need to ask you a question or two."

There was a sigh. Then, "Shoot."

"I'd like to know if anyone came to see you that day… Any suspicious-looking people, or…"

"Um, no, no one came over. We live out in the middle of nowhere, so people don't usually come by. Of course, Julie came, and her mother dropped her off. But that was it."

Sam nodded to himself. "And you didn't hear anything the night Julie was killed? You didn't hear someone breaking in?"

"My house in very small," Peter replied. "I hear everything that's going on. The only thing I heard that night was Julie's scream." There was a long pause. "I must have missed something… But I didn't hear anything else… God…"

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Hammerstone. Don't worry about this, we'll figure it out," Sam assured him. And after saying goodbye, Sam hung up.

He looked over to Patricia. "It could have been anyone else… It's got to be him. I'm sorry."

Patricia's eyes widened. "So you have to… You have to kill him?"

Sam took a deep breath and held it for a second. "We really try to avoid killing people, we really do. But he's a werewolf. Maybe if we had more time… But if we don't do what we have to, he'll probably end up killing a lot of people."

Patricia looked down. "…I understand…"

* * *

See? Fast hunt, fast hunt. Lol. Emma was actually inspired by a little girl I know. I always thought of her when I think "I have to write a four year old" (except now that girl is almost six...uh... oh well... lol)

Please leave a review. I get really happy when I get them. (I got over thirty emails today, and was SHOCKED. most of them obviously from here, reviews, story alert plusses and such) It's awesome because I don't really get emails from anyone or anywhere else. Damn it, I must not get enough comments on myspace. lol.

Anyway, Popo wants to get clicked again!

I hope to update soon, but it might not be for a few days. It won't be too long, I promise!

Popo: clickie clickie!


	11. Chapter 11

Hello everyone! I'm sorry it took a while to update, but my nephew and sister came to visit and since they both resided in my room for their stay, I couldn't really write that much... AND I was distracted by my nephew's CUTENESS! And now I'm at my sister's house. I spent yesterday and today cheerily rewriting this chapter while watching my nephew (CUTE!) lol.

I don't own Supernatural! I can't believe we'll be going into our FOURTH season! Time flies!

* * *

The following afternoon, Sam and Dean were out near the Impala, preparing for what they had to do that night. Patricia had gone to drop Emma at school, because they was a rehearsal for the play that Emma's class was going to put on. The little girl had insisted, with the help of her teacher, that Patricia could just drop her off, because Emma didn't want her mother to see the show before the big night. So Patricia had come home, and Emma wasn't do home until five thirty.

Dean took out a gun filled with silver bullets, the metal cold against the palm of his hand. He checked to see if the gun was fully loaded, and looked over to see Sam doing the same thing.

"When should we leave?" Sam inquired.

Dean glanced at his brother, and realized that snowflakes were drifting down from the clouds. White specks littered Sam's unruly hair, and his nose was so red that it looked like it could have passed for a clown's nose. Dean would've laughed at him if he wasn't in such a crappy mood.

"When it gets dark," he replied. "Five or five thirty'll be good."

Sam put the gun back into the trunk, and rubbed his hands together furiously. He had never liked the cold weather. Maybe it had something to do with him being born in May. But it didn't seem to faze Dean very much, and if he was bothered by it, he didn't show it. Maybe that had something to do with Dean being born in January… Sam shook his head. He really didn't know—all he knew was that he was freezing his ass off and he wanted to go inside.

The brothers went inside, where a smiling Patricia offered them both a mug of hot chocolate.

"I have to run out to get some groceries," she informed them. "I'll be back in about twenty minutes, okay?"

After she had left, Sam and Dean sat down on the couch. Sam took a long sip of the warm liquid and smiled as it hit the spot. "This people are really nice, Dean," he remarked.

Dean nodded wordlessly, spilling a tiny bit of hot chocolate into his mouth and frowning when it burnt his tongue. He knew he should've waited for it to cool off some more.

"They're so normal," Sam went on.

Dean gave his brother a long look. "Yeah."

Sam took another gulp of his hot chocolate—apparently his was just the right temperature, Dean thought to himself.

Dean scratched the back of his head. "They're good people, yeah. And yeah, they're normal…and that one fact just drives me up the wall."

Sam glanced at him inquisitively. "Why? Why do you let it do that to you? Maybe if you didn't worry about it so much, you could actually have a nice time here."

Dean chuckled. "You know, staying here with Patricia and Emma—man, it's _weird_. When I'm here, I feel so out of place. I feel so _uncomfortable_. Because this life—this _normal_ life—it's not where I belong, not anymore. That's why tomorrow, after we're done with this hunt, we're leaving."

Sam frowned, his eyebrows creasing.

When Dean didn't get a response, he looked over to Sam, wondering about the silence was about. He really wished he hadn't, because Sam was giving him a puppy-eyed look that could put all little children to shame. He quickly tore his gaze and stood up, almost spilling his hot chocolate. "Will you quit giving me that look?!"

Sam was confused. "What look?"

Dean shook his head. "That damn puppy-eyes look that you always use when you're trying to force me into having a chick-flick moment!"

Sam let out a huff of breath in amusement. "Sorry. If I knew you'd throw such a fit…" He gave his brother a wide grin.

Dean didn't answer him. He gulped down the rest of his hot chocolate, that was still pretty hot but drinkable. Taking a moment and wishing the hot chocolate was a beer instead, he finally said, "Let's just get this over with, okay?"

"Whatever you say, big brother."

Once it was starting to get dark, Sam and Dean left the house. They didn't get far, however, because they were stopped by Patricia. She had gone to pick up Emma, but hadn't even left the driveway.

Her green eyes were filled with fear, and she looked jittery. She looked up to both of them with tears in her eyes. "I got a—a call from Peter…" She took a deep breath that seemed to shake her entire body.

Dean put two firm hands on her shoulders. "What's wrong, Patricia?"

"Emma," Patricia replied softly. "Peter—Peter, he called to tell me that the rehearsal had let out early, and that Emma was over there right now, and she'd like to stay for dinner."

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, and Sam saw a glint of something in his brother's eyes. Worry, maybe?

Dean stared at Patricia. "Don't worry about it," he assured her. "We'll bring her home safely."

Patricia took another deep breath, a tear falling unnoticed from her eye. "Please…please do…"

Dean nodded and strode away to the Impala, Sam following closely behind. The younger Winchester couldn't help but notice the tense air that hung around his brother all of a sudden. Sam assumed that this was Dean going into _No-One's-Gonna-Die-'Cause-I'm-Gonna-Kill-That-Evil-Sucker_ mode.

Dean stopped beside the Impala. He threw Sam a look over his shoulder. "Okay, let's waste this evil sucker."

Sam felt a glint of amusement in the back of his mind. Just as he had predicted. It was always the same with Dean. He wanted to protect everyone from everything evil, and he was _very_ protective over the ones that he loved.

Dean bringing the Impala to life jerked Sam out of his thoughts, making him hurry over to the passenger side before Dean left without him.

* * *

The light of the full moon illuminated the dark sky in an almost eerie manner. To Dean, it was a sign of what might happen if either one of those little girls were around when Peter transformed. He and Sam went up to the front door, and Dean paused for a moment, listening.

It was much too quiet—almost as if everyone inside was dead already… Dean shook his head, ridding it of the thought. He took his gun out and cocked it, motioning for Sam to do the same. "He must have transformed by now," he whispered to his brother. "So once you see—shoot."

A shrill scream cut the silence, a scream that Dean recognized instantly. He kicked open the door and ran inside, but tripped over something and fell hard on the floor.

"You okay, man?" Sam asked, offering his brother a hand.

Dean sat up and looked at what he had tripped over.

He and Sam both assumed that it was Peter Hammerstone, but they couldn't really recognize him, because the man looked as if he had been ripped to shreds. Strips of skin clung loosely to his bones, and Peter's face could only be described as completely destroyed.

Dean took Sam's hand and stood. "Well…ah… This kinda puts a kink in things…"

Sam nodded solemnly. "Yeah, we were really off-target with this one."

Dean gave his brother a look and opened his mouth to respond, but another scream pierced the air, cutting him off. "Shit," he swore under his breath, running off towards the sound, Sam close at his heels.

They reached a bedroom where they spotted little Emma, sprawled out on the floor. A few feet from her stood a rather small werewolf. If possible, it looked even more hideous than an adult one.

Emma realized that they had come in and her blue eyes widened. There was already a small cut running from her left temple to just below her eye, and a few drops fell from it and ran down her face.

"Uncle Dean!" she cried. "Help me, Uncle Dean! Sophie…Sophie, she turned into…she turned into a monster!"

Dean brought up his gun and aimed it at Sophie, who had also taken notice to his and Sam's presence and was advancing. Dean had the perfect shot, could've ended it right there… But he kept seeing the haunted little girl he had met before. Now he could understand what Sophie had meant about the monster that kept coming back—that monster was _her_. She was just a little girl, who had a cruel fate shoved onto her shoulders. It kind of reminded Dean of himself, if only a little bit.

He took one hand off the gun and wiped sweat from his brow. "I can't kill a little girl, Sammy! This is insane!"

Sophie continued to come towards them, growling deeply. The once cute little girl was now disfigured, covered with greasy strands of hair, and had long, dark claws that looked like they would hurt like a bitch.

"She's…she's not a little girl anymore!" Sam yelled back, even though he found himself unable to shoot her as well.

Sophie went down on all fours and leapt forward, claws outstretched.

Dean sidestepped, pulling Sam out of the line of fire as well. And Sophie, instead of going after them again, bounded out the bedroom door and ran down the hall.

Dean glanced at Emma again, and again saw the blood on her face, all sympathy for Sophie draining. "I'm gonna kill that bitch," he hissed, beginning to walk out after Sophie.

Sam grabbed his forearm, and Dean shot him a questioning glare.

"She's gonna come back," Sam told him, seriously. "Let her come to us, and then we'll kill her."

"That, is the _stupidest_ thing I have ever heard in my entire life," Dean retorted. _"She'll come back?!_ She's a fucking _werewolf_, Sam! When she transforms, she turns into a wild animal!"

"She's going to come back," Sam repeated, more firmly. "Settle down."

Dean shook off Sam's hand, went over to Emma and went down on one knee. "Don't worry, Em…" He helped her to her feet and checked out her cut. "Are you okay?"

Emma nodded, looking as if she were fighting back tears. She wrapped her little arms around Dean's neck, hugging him tightly while trembling. "I was so _scared_, Uncle Dean!"

"Don't worry," Dean repeated soothingly as he rubbed Emma's back. "Me and Sam will take care of this. I'll protect you."

Emma stepped back. "Then you and Uncle Sammy are going to leave?"

Sam's eyebrows shot up. _Uncle Sammy?! That's so weird… She seems to be so much more attached to Dean than me… I though I was going to be 'Mr. Sammy' to her…,_ Sam thought to himself.

Dean smiled slightly, knowing now that Sam couldn't tease him about his uncle title anymore. "Yes, we'll be leaving after we get rid of the monster."

"You're—you're leaving? But…but Uncle Dean…all the monsters…they're…they're always around… I don't want you to go!" Emma exclaimed, more tears filling up in her eyes, but she didn't let them loose, not yet. "Uncle Dean… Uncle Dean…I need you!"

Dean completely froze. After all these months, he had finally heard it. Those three words spoken in sincerity that would prove that the demon was wrong. Sure, the demon had said that it was _John_ and _Sam_ who didn't need him, but right now he knew that someone truly needed him. And that person was this little girl standing in front of him right now. He stared into her teary blue eyes, and knew she really did mean it.

He felt something run from his eye and down his face, and quickly realized what it was.

That's when Emma let go of the tears in her eyes. "Uncle Dean…don't cry…," she sniffled. She took her little thumb and wiped the single tear from Dean's face, a motion that Dean himself had done for her several times before.

"Thank you," Dean whispered, looking down.

Sam didn't have the heart to break up this little moment, but he didn't have to. A loud howl sounded into the night, and 'Sophie' appeared in the doorway once again. Since Sam was the closest to her, she decided to take him out first.

She raked a claw across his chest and threw him back with surprising strength. Sam slammed into the wall so hard, he was unconscious before he hit the ground.

Dean pushed Emma away from him, hopefully towards safety. "Sam!" he shouted before training his gun once again on Sophie. But once again his hands shook. He couldn't keep the gun straight…he couldn't kill a little girl—even when she was twisted out of her original form. Dean blinked several times, trying to make himself pull the trigger. He took a deep breath, licking his lips and aiming carefully, pulling the trigger.

The bullet ripped into Sophie's shoulder, and she howled in pained rage. The werewolf's eyes bored into Dean, growling as she backhanded him, making his head snap around so fast, he thought that it would break off. Sophie then punned him to the ground and slammed his head on the floor.

Dean closed his eyes against the pain, angry with himself for missing a simple shot. He would've shot her again, but he had dropped his gun when Sophie backhanded him. He could even move, she was much too strong. She clawed him hard on the shoulder and slammed him into the floor again. When Dean didn't fall unconscious, she tried again. And again and again until Dean finally fell into the darkness. The last thing Dean heard was Emma's painfully familiar scream—but this time it was different. She was screaming for him—she was screaming for Sophie to stop hurting him…

* * *

ahhhh there we go... I don't know when the next chapter will be up since i'm still at my sister's. I have to write on my CRAPPY laptop... seriously, it sucks. it doesn't even have a floppy A drive.. and it always needs to be plugged in because the batteries run out so fast... and it only has like, a 15 gig hard drive. it just sucks...

But anyway, I definitely have more ideas as to what to do next with this story! YES! lots of ideas! (kinda) I'm very excited.

Popo wants to be clicked! if he's not clicked, he'll DIE! Seriously, it's like oxygen for him.

Please stay tuned!


	12. Chapter 12

Hi everyone, i'm back once again. I almost have 100 reviews for this story! YAY! AND my best friend, Mimi-pon (obviously not her real name) has started to read this story! She is the only person i know personally that reads anything i write. I can share things online like this okay, but not to anyone else. . . it's kinda sad.

Thanks for the reviews, story alert plus, whatever.

and i don't own Supernatural, but I do own Patricia and Emma. WHOO! And, little note, since I wrote this long before the episode 'Heart' I obviously had a different view on werewolves, lol. Maybe if I had seen that episode first I would've written this differently... But I did what I did, and I hope everyone can cope with that. lol.

Please enjoy... oh and... well, never mind you'll figure out while you're reading.

Oh and by the way, there is use of the 'f' word in this chapter! (i don't remember if I used it before this... or if i have, i didn't use it that much...i never do...) For those who don't like that word, just imagine it as something else! Like...FUDGE!

* * *

Emma gasped. Uncle Dean couldn't be dead. Nothing could ever kill Uncle Dean. She prayed for him to blink open his eyes, but her hope drained when they didn't even flicker.

Tears began to pour down her face. "Uncle Dean," she whispered in a choked voice. "Uncle _Dean_!" She stared at Sophie, who was beginning to back away from Dean. "Sophie, what did you do to my Uncle Dean?!" Her heart began to pound faster than she had ever remembered it pounding. She was scared out of her mind, she hadn't ever been this scared in her whole life.

Emma choked out a few more sobs, looking from Uncle Sammy to Uncle Dean and trembling. "How…why did you do that?" she sobbed, pounding her fist on Sophie's back. "Why are you so mean?!"

Sophie began to growl deeply, and turned her eyes onto the little girl.

Emma ignored her and went up to Dean, kneeling down beside him. She could barely see him through all the tears. She didn't know what else to do.

Sophie's eyes bored into her back, her growl growing louder and louder until she let out a long, haunting howl.

* * *

Ten minutes or so later, Dean woke up to a terrible headache. His eyelids fluttered, and the first thing he noticed was a low growling.

Dean shot up, eyes darting around for his gun. When he found it, he scooped it up and brought it around…

He saw Sophie… But what made his body freeze up with horror was the bloody remains beside Sophie.

His eyes widened. "No… No, you didn't do that…"

Sophie looked over to him and continued to growl, tensing up for an obvious attack.

Dean glared darkly, steadying his hands as he aimed for Sophie's heart. And in one pull of the trigger, it was all over. Sophie fell onto Emma's torn body, and didn't move.

Dean was paralyzed for a long time. He just stood there, with the gun still in hand, staring at Emma's remains. Then, breaking out of his spell, he let the gun clatter to the floor and dashed over to Emma, shoving Sophie's body aside.

There was not much left—or at least, nothing recognizable. That is, except for the strands of familiar dark blond hair that Dean had liked so much.

Dean touched what was left of her arm, not caring about touching her blood. It was still a little warm. "Em…" He shook his head angrily. If only he hadn't been so uptight about shooting Sophie. If only he hadn't _missed_ when he did shoot her. He had not one, but _two_ opportunities to end this. He had _two_ opportunities to prevent all this from happening.

She had probably died screaming for him to save her… But he didn't. She had probably died wishing he would've shot Sophie sooner. But he _didn't_.

Dean looked to his shaking hands, seeing them, all covered in her blood. He might as well have murdered her himself. He took a shaky breath.

He might have broken down, right there. He could've let his emotions get the better of him, could've thrown things and screamed and shoot that bitch who killed _his little girl_ another hundred times, until that damn werewolf looked just as torn as he felt. He could've done all that, but he remembered Sam.

He spotted Sam on the other side of the room, still unconscious. He kneeled beside his little brother and wiped his bloody hands on his jeans. He was horrified to see Sam's blood, from four bloody cuts down his chest. They didn't look deep enough to require stitches, but they would definitely be hurting for a while.

Dean looked at his own stinging shoulder, where Sophie had clawed him before.

_Ugh, gross_, he thought, peeling his shirt from the bloody wound and carefully fixing his jacket so the wound would remain hidden. He then turned his attention back to Sam.

"Sam, wake up," Dean urged, nudging his brother. "Sammy, come on, man…" He wished his voice didn't sound so weak right about then.

Sam groaned as he cracked open his eyes. "Dean?" His eyebrows furrowed when he noticed the pain flaring on his chest. "Damn…"

Dean swallowed hard. "Are you okay, Sammy?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, m'fine. Did we get it?"

Dean's eyes left his and he nodded slowly. "Yeah…yeah we did…"

Sam pulled himself into a sitting position, taking a good long look at the cuts across his chest. When he looked back at his brother, he instantly knew something was wrong. Though Dean was very skilled at hiding anything that was bothering him, Sam could always tell when Dean was fighting to keep the façade up. And Dean was fighting for his life.

"Something happened." It wasn't a question. Sam knew it.

Dean's eyes drifted across the room to Emma's remains. "Something…," he agreed, quietly.

Sam craned his neck to look over Dean's shoulder, and it was once he laid eyes on the bloody mess when he realized what had happened.

Instead of offering an explanation, Dean offered his brother a helping hand, bringing Sam to his feet after getting to his.

Dean began to walk out the bedroom door, only stopping when Sam began to speak.

"What do we do?" Sam asked. He was afraid to ask about Emma, Dean noticed with dark amusement. _That_ was a good thing.

"We call the police," Dean replied, not turning.

"The police?"

"Yeah, Sam, the police. We just say that we heard screaming, and found Peter and…and Emma already dead. We saw the creature that killed them, and being officers of the law ourselves, shot it." Dean shrugged halfheartedly. "Just another one of our cover stories."

"Dean, what—?"

"And I have to tell Patricia what happened…"

"_Don't worry about it. We'll bring her home safely."_

Dean inwardly flinched at his own words. What would he say to her now? How could he tell Patricia that her only child was dead, and that he didn't protect her?

"Dean…?"

Dean continued to walk forward. "Let's go, Sam."

* * *

"No way, Dean!"

"Uh, yeah way."

"There is no way in hell I'm going to let you tell her alone! It was _our_ responsibility, not just yours!"

Dean grit his teeth. "Sam, I'm going alone."

Sam frowned. "Dean, I'm not just going to let you do this alone. It'll be too hard. If we're both there, then…"

"No means _no_, Sam."

"But, Dean!"

"_No._"

"Dean, be serious here."

"I am being _dead fucking serious_, Sam."

Sam took a deep breath. "Dean… Come on, man, j—"

"Sam, _no_."

"You didn't even let me finish!"

"'Come on, man, just let me help you out'," Dean mocked. "I'm not in the fucking mood for your shit right now, Sam. Just let me handle this on my own!"

Sam opened his mouth, almost frustrated enough to voice a few choice phrases himself, but snapped his mouth shut. Dean was probably going through hell right now… He was probably just making it worse. He shook his head. Maybe he should let Dean go by himself, since it was what he wanted to do. But Sam didn't like it, he'd feel so much better if he was in there backing Dean up. He let out a long sigh. "Fine."

* * *

When they came back to Patricia's house, Sam sat in the car and watched as his brother went up to the front door and rang the doorbell.

Patricia opened up the door, and Sam then saw Dean pitch forward a long explanation that Sam couldn't even hope to hear. He then saw Patricia's face crumble away into something akin to horror. The woman began to cry heavily, slowly backing into the house before slamming the door in Dean's face. It wasn't as if Sam really expected that she'd forgive them, but now he knew for sure that they would be staying in a motel that night.

Dean stood there for a long time, just staring at the door blankly, and for a minute, Sam wondered if he had to go get him. But just as he was reaching for the door handle, Dean slowly began to walk back to the car.

When Dean got back into the car, he remained wordless. He was silent the whole trip to a nearby motel, and Sam didn't even try to ask any questions. He knew something must have happened… He knew that normally, Dean would have never let anything near Emma, or anyone else he cared about. He would have protected her with his life, but he got away with her dead and him only a few bruises, as far as Sam could tell. Little did he know that Dean was carefully trying not to favor his left shoulder. He only drove with his right hand, but Sam didn't really notice.

_It must have been something simple. Sophie could have knocked Dean out just as easily as she knocked me out,_ Sam thought to himself. It was the most logical explanation, but Sam wasn't sure what to think.

* * *

When they got to the motel and checked in, Dean helped Sam bandage up his chest—it was a lot harder than he thought. Trying to do it without showing any pain from his shoulder was hard as hell, but he managed.

One of the reasons Sam didn't notice was because he was much to preoccupied with the awkward silence between himself and his brother. He stared at the ground as Dean helped him. But he finally took a deep breath, pulling on his shirt and asking, "Are you hungry?"

Dean shot him a glance. How could Sam be thinking about food after seeing a little girl torn apart like that? But then again, they could eat after seeing just about anything and everything else. But food was the last thing on Dean's mind. All he could think about was what had just occurred. He couldn't get Patricia's face out of his head. The way she had _looked_ at him, when he told her that he had failed her…

"Dean?" Sam asked tentatively.

Dean swallowed. "Um, no, not really."

"Oh," Sam replied quietly. "Because, you know, I was kind of thinking about getting some dinner…"

"That's okay, Sam. Go ahead. I'll stay here. I'm kinda tired anyway."

Sam stood and went over to the door, his hand hovering over the doorknob. "You sure you don't want anything?"

Dean thought about it for a while, and then nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure. Not now, okay?"

Sam hid a frown. Ever since Dean came back, he had been looking a little on the thin side. Sam knew he had realized this before, but he had put his worry on hold for this hunt, hoping that maybe this had been his imagination. Now the worry was back, backed with brand new worry, and if all that worry wore out, he knew he could think of a million more things to worry about.

Eventually, he eased open the door, only muttering an "Okay…" in acknowledgment before leaving.

* * *

Dean let out a short sigh once Sam was gone. He strode to the bathroom and tore off his shirt. This was definitely a time to take advantage off. He grabbed the first-aid kit and sat himself on the toilet, taking a look at his shoulder. Four deep cuts were etched from the top of his shoulder to his collarbone. He wondered if they needed to be stitched. After poking around at them for a second, he decided not. Okay, so maybe it would help if they were stitched, but they weren't bad enough that they _needed_ stitches. It would be hard as hell to stitch his own shoulder, anyway.

So he carefully cleaned the wounds and wrapped his shoulder. He closed his eyes briefly, letting the burning of his shoulder be the only thing on his mind. It hurt, yeah. But he deserved it. He actually deserved a lot worse, for what he let happen.

Dean opened his eyes, because now all he could see was Emma's face. He unconsciously squeezed his shoulder to take it away.

Now as long as Sam didn't find out about his shoulder, it'd be fine.

* * *

When Sam awoke a few mornings later, he quickly realized that Dean was not in his bed. He glanced at the clock. _Damn, it's ten already…,_ he thought.

He wasn't really surprised that Dean had gone out. His brother had been going out a lot since the other night—mostly just going to bars, claiming that he was going to win them some money. Sam was worried, and tried going with his brother when he could, but… Dean seemed to take joy in the fact that he could sneak away from Sam when he was sleeping—because that's always when he'd leave.

Sam sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes. "Goddamn it, Dean…"

Only a minute later, the door opened and Dean walked inside. But to Sam's complete and utter surprise, Dean was all dressed up in a suit, and was tightening his tie as he walked in. He dumped a bag of muffins on a nearby table, and finally walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

That was another thing that didn't surprise Sam. Dean hadn't talked to him much over the past few days. Sam didn't push his luck—or, at least, he didn't push it just yet.

Sam sat there for a moment, still recovering from the shock of seeing his brother dressed up, before asking, "What's with the suit, Dean?"

The bathroom door opened again and Dean stepped out. "Em's funeral is today. We're going… Or, I guess, I can go alone if you want to stay here."

Sam shook his head. "No, I'm coming too." And he quickly got up and began to get ready.

* * *

When the brothers arrived at the graveyard, Dean hung back from the small crowd, and Sam stayed right by his side. They could see Patricia among the crowd, and they knew they were in the right place.

Sam glanced to his brother, who still stood in his place, safely away from any other person. It was obvious that they hadn't been formally invited.

Twenty or so minutes later, the crowd began to dissipate, leaving only Patricia behind. It was only when Dean was sure everyone else was far away when he walked up to where Patricia stood.

Patricia was sobbing silently, and didn't seem to notice their approach.

Dean dug around in his pocket, and finally offered her a handkerchief.

Her eyes widened when she realized that Dean was there, and didn't take what Dean had offered. Her mouth worked for a moment, nothing but dead air coming out. Dean wasn't sure how she could even tell if it were them, since her eyes were full with tears.

"We're…very sorry for you loss," Sam said, calmly and quietly. It sounded lame, he thought, considering.

Dean shot him a glance, as if just remembering that he was there with him. He then turned his gaze back to Patricia. "God, Patricia…," he began, swallowing hard. "I'm so sorry…"

"You should be!" Patricia sobbed. "You told me that you'd _protect_ her! You told me that she'd be _safe!_ You—you were supposed to protect her and now she's _dead_ because you didn't!"

Dean looked down and took it like a blow—unflinching and pretending it didn't hurt. Such was the Winchester way.

Sam stepped forward, opening his mouth to say something in Dean's defense, but Dean shot him a look that shut him up.

"Look," Dean finally said, quietly. "You know if I could go back… I'd save Em… I would h—"

Dean didn't get to finish his sentence, for Patricia smacked him full across the face.

"Don't—! Don't call her 'Em' like you were her best friend! How could this have happened?" she sobbed. "First my husband, and now her! She was so precious to me! She was _all I had!_ What did I do to make God hate me this much?!"

"I'm sorry," Dean whispered, not knowing what else to say.

"That's all you have to say? You're _sorry_?" The tears kept pouring down Patricia's face, but Dean could still make out her accusing eyes.

He tried to give her the handkerchief again, and out of sheer annoyance of him continuing to offer it to her, she snatched it from him and wiped her face.

"Just go away," she hissed. "Leave me alone!"

Dean stood there for a moment longer, but then led Sam away from the weeping woman and walked back to the car.

* * *

I know... it's terrible... POOR EMMA! I'm considering having her make a cameo appearance...in...something (I don't know what yet).. Mostly because I liked her character and would like to use her again. And it was really easy to picture her as twenty years old or something... (oddly) But I'm really glad that people liked her character! I'll have to tell that to the little girl that inspired Emma. "You're a star!" lol

And if anyone's been wondering about Dean not eating very well... (Kitiaria! and others...) It'll all be revealed hopefully in two or three chapters... i think... lol... don't worry, it's nothing life-threatening... i mean, unless he stops eating all together... which he hasn't...lol...

Popo's really, really sad about Emma's death, and he needs some clicks to cheer him up...

I'll be back...sometime soon i hope! haha...ha...


	13. Chapter 13

Hi everyone, I'm back again. I'm home from my sister's... so I miss my really really cute nephew... (cries)

So, this chapter... I don't know, for some reason while I was rewriting it I was really bothered by something...So if it's confusing or bothersome or just strange, please bear with me. This chapter was (for reasons unknown) hard for me to rewrite, so there's gotta be SOMETHING wrong... I don't know, I really don't.

So I still don't own Supernatural... And I still can't believe that we're almost in season four! It seems like just yesterday I was watching the very first episode...

* * *

Dean sat on the side of his bed, taking off his tie and throwing it aside.

"Dean…," Sam began, a little warily. "Are you okay?"

Dean rubbed his chin. "I don't know, Sam, what do you think?!"

Sam was silent.

"I fucking murdered a four-year-old girl! How do you think I'm doing?!"

"Dean, it wasn't your fault… There wasn't anything you could've done…"

Dean turned to stare at his brother. "No, actually, that's where you're wrong. There were a _million_ things I could've done. I could've made sure Em…_Emma _didn't go near Peter or his crazy daughter. I had the chance to shoot Sophie—twice—but I couldn't do it the first time and the second shot wasn't good enough. I could've held on when she kept banging my head against the floor. If I had just stayed conscious, Em…" Dean shook his head roughly. "_Emma_ would still be alive. If I had done any one of those things, she'd still be here."

"Dean, we can't save everyone…" It had a line they used often, but once the words were out of Sam's mouth, he knew it wouldn't work.

"Don't give me that shit, Sam!"

"But—"

"Didn't you hear her?! She said that she _needed_ me. She said…she said that she needed me… I was supposed to protect her, but I didn't!"

"Dean—"

"How the hell did I screw this up so badly? The only fucking person who needs me, and I go off and kill her!" Dean could feel his emotions really beginning to toil now.

"You didn't—"

"When I first met her, it was right after the poltergeist had killed her dad. She saw him die, you know? When I met her that first time, it was almost like she was older than just four. I don't know why she liked me so much… She always looked up to me…when there was something wrong, she'd always come to me… She was always trying to make me smile… She didn't deserve to die! I didn't even deserve to meet her! And we all know we would've been better off if I hadn't made it my job to protect her too. I'm a really _crappy_ protector."

"No, you're—"

Dean rubbed his forehead irritably. "And now I'm going on like…like…like you, in the throes of a major chick-flick moment." He looked to the floor and tried to chuckle. "Man, I even disappoint myself. It's bad enough that I'm already a complete disappointment—"

"Dean—"

"—to you—"

"_Dean—!"_

"—and to Dad—"

"DEAN!"

Dean snapped out of it instantly. He clenched his fists, trying to hold the rest in. He couldn't _do_ that anymore. But when he bottled things up _so much_, he couldn't help but explode. And this whole ordeal was really sending him over the edge. "Jesus, Sammy, what is it?"

"I've been _trying_ to talk to you for the past few minutes!"

"And?"

"Dean, this isn't your fault," Sam began firmly. "There isn't _anything_ we can do about Emma's death now. It's not your fault that Sophie knocked you out, and hell, if you had woken up a few minutes later than you did, we'd probably be dead too!"

"But if I had woken up a few minutes _earlier_ than I did, _none _of us would be dead." Dean stood up, walking towards the door. _I'm an idiot. If I can't even protect a little girl from a werewolf, then how am I supposed to protect Sam and Dad from the demon?_

"Where are you going?" Sam blurted out as his brother opened up the door.

Dean paused, hearing the fear in Sam's voice and instantly feeling guilty. "You think I'm going to leave you…again. Sam…I'm sorry I left in the first place. It was stupid and selfish. It's just…it's just, I was scared."

"What?"

Dean clenched his fists even harder. "I knew I had to leave after you said you didn't need me. Yeah, part of it was because I just needed to be alone to think about everything… But I was afraid that… I mean, if you truly didn't need me, you would leave, wouldn't you? If there is anything in my life that I do not want to experience again…it'd be you leaving. So…I don't know, I just had to leave first. I thought it'd be easier. I just didn't want you to leave, I…I couldn't…" Dean took a deep breath and shook his head. _I'm not supposed to tell Sammy this… I'm supposed to keep it to myself… Now it's like I'm forcing Sam to say that he needs me. And if it's forced it means nothing._

"Dean, I'm not gonna…"

When Sam's words trailed off, Dean paused, glancing over his shoulder to see his brother struggling for the right words. His eyes were full of guilt for making Dean even _think_ that he'd leave.

_Great, Dean, now you made him feel bad,_ Dean berated himself. _I'll be shocked if I ever do anything right in my life._ "I'm going to run out," he told Sam. He didn't feel like making this chick-flick scene any bigger than it already was. "I'll be back a little later, okay?" And before waiting for Sam to answer, Dean left.

* * *

It was early next morning when Sam stirred from his sleep. After their conversation yesterday, Dean had gone out, and came back a few hours later with a plastic bag. He had then gone out again and hadn't come back.

When he left without a word for the second time, Sam took the opportunity to peer into the bag that Dean had brought back. _Hmm,_ he had thought, frowning. The bag was full of all the stuff anyone would ever need if they wanted to clean their car. Sam wondered when Dean would find the time to do that.

But when he woke up this morning, he found Dean's bed empty once again. Sam blinked tiredly. _It can't be that early if Dean's already awake,_ he mused, before going into the bathroom and taking a quick shower.

When he was done, he felt much more awake. He took a look at the time and almost fell over.

_5:47 AM_.

Now why would Dean be up at this hour? Dean was _definitely_ not much of a morning type. Sam was worried that maybe his brother hadn't gotten any sleep. He _had_ seemed pretty restless for…well, Sam wasn't sure for how long. A while now, probably.

Sam spotted the car keys on the round table in the corner of their room, relieved to know that Dean mustn't have gone very far.

Sam grabbed his cell phone, and dialed Dean's new number. He had squeezed it out of his brother only moments after they had met up again, but was warned about calling too many times in a row—which, apparently, would result in Dean changing his number again.

"Yeah?" Dean's voice answered.

"It's a quarter to six. Where the hell are you?"

"Dude, chill. I'm right outside, in the parking lot. I haven't gone anywhere."

Sam drew back the curtains and looked outside, but didn't see a sign of any living soul. "I don't see you," he grumbled.

"Has it ever occurred to you that maybe you can't see me from the window? But, hey, Sammy, do me a favor."

"What is it?"

"Pack up our stuff, okay? And check us out. It's high time we left this place."

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "Okay…okay… Um, but, ah, some of our stuff… It's at Patricia's house."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I picked it up earlier. It's already in the car," Dean said lightly after only a moment's hesitation. "Now hurry up, baby brother! I'm by the car, and I'm not going to wait around forever."

"Okay, I'll be right out." Sam hung up, and frowned to himself in confusion. After yesterday, he had expected Dean to be upset. After all that's happened, he expected Dean to be completely… It was just weird, because over the phone, he had sounded like his old self. As in the Dean he was months before—that is, before the demon, before the crash… He had picked up their stuff from Patricia's without any trouble, as far as Sam knew, anyway. Dean didn't seem bothered that he had to go back to that house again…

Sam quickly gathered their stuff and checked out, and then walked out to where he saw Dean waiting.

_Wow_, Sam thought, as he came up to his brother and the Impala. The Impala looked even better than when it had just come out of the shop. It was so _clean_. If Sam didn't know any better, he'd think that it was a brand new car.

_I guess Dean found the time to clean the car after all,_ Sam thought to himself. "So, you cleaned the car," he remarked.

Dean gave him a lopsided smile. "Yeah. She looks awesome, right? See, _I'm_ the only one who can make her look this good. Screw all those know-it-all car-wash dudes."

"It looks very…clean."

"Only the cleanest. I even got rid of some of the trash that's been in the backseat for like, ever."

Sam smiled in amusement and after putting his and Dean's stuff in the trunk, got into the passenger seat. The interior was incredibly clean as well. He was impressed.

"So when exactly did you do this?" Sam asked when Dean got into the car and started it up.

"This morning," Dean responded.

Sam creased his eyebrows. It was seeming more likely that Sam's earlier theory was sounding more logical. "Early this morning, apparently. Did you get any sleep?"

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, sure I did. I just wanted to leave early today, and I cleaned the car because I'm not gonna have time to do it later."

Sam licked his lips. "So, ah, did you speak with Patricia when you picked up our stuff?"

"No, she wasn't awake."

"Then how did you… Dean, don't tell me you broke in?!"

Dean chuckled. "No, smartass, I didn't break in. Patricia hides an extra key in the grill in her backyard. So technically, I didn't break in at all. I just let myself in, grabbed my stuff, and left."

"You didn't even say goodbye?"

Dean's smile wavered. "No, Sam, I didn't say goodbye. I thought that it'd probably be better if I didn't. But enough about that, okay?"

"You mean you want to pretend that it never happened." It wasn't a question. It was a statement, and a seemingly bothered one at that.

"No," Dean denied. "I'll remember. I'll remember everything that happened. I'm just over it, so there's no use bringing it up again."

_Over it? Already? Oh, yeah right… I'm not an idiot, Dean, that's not gonna work,_ Sam thought. _You're just hiding it again… You just want me to forget about it because you don't want to talk about it. Because you're __not__ over it at all!_

He threw his brother a sideways glance that was full of incredulously. Dean ignored him completely, but Sam could sense the massive amounts of _bullshit_ radiating from this situation.

Dean sensed his suspicion and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. "Something bothering you, Sammy?"

Sam paused for a long time, contemplating on what to say. "It's just…you're…you're acting like _Dean."_

"Last time I checked, I _was_ Dean," Dean replied with a smirk.

"I mean… Come on, man, the last time you _really _acted like yourself was…was…months ago."

"Hey, a few of those months are unaccounted for, remember? I acted completely like myself when we were apart, too, okay?"

"How am I supposed to know?"

"Because I told you so. Oh, and I'm sure I can dig up a couple dozen phone numbers of girls who can vouch for me." Dean gave him a half smile as Sam looked at him in disgust. "I get it, Sam, you're cranky because you woke up too early. Go on, get some sleep."

"I'm not tired!" Sam exclaimed stubbornly. He wasn't tired, he was confused. His brother, doing a complete one-eighty in only twenty-four hours.

"_I even disappoint myself. It's bad enough that I'm already a complete disappointment to you and to Dad…"_

Dean had said that just twenty-four hours ago, Sam didn't forget. He didn't really believe that Dean would think that just because he was acting all Dean-like, Sam would forget about everything. Sam knew this whole thing was a load of crap. He knew that putting up fronts were easier than dealing with the pain, so it was obvious that this was a front—because there was no way in hell that Dean could 'get over it' in just a day. He'd have to be the most well-adjusted person on the planet—times a million.

Frowning stubbornly, but letting Dean run with it for a moment, Sam remarked, "We need to stop at a Laundromat soon, okay? All my clothes are filthy, and yours are even worse."

Dean nodded slowly. "Okay. We'll, uh, go tomorrow." He gave an awkward little smile before turning on his music.

* * *

Now tell me what you think... It was so hard and awkward rewriting this chapter, so I want to know how you received it. (I'm so strange??) And besides, Popo wants more clickies! He's extremely happy that this story has over a hundred reviews now! (As am I...obviously)

So I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up... I plan on rewriting it sometime today or tomorrow... But I don't know how long it'll take because what I have left of this story isn't enough for a whole chapter, which means I'm going to start WRITING this again! All new stuff! (for me anyway)

But you see, the big reason I don't know when the next update will be is because starting monday, I want to write a story that's been on my mind for a while now (Just a regular story, not a fan fiction), and so to write this story, I want to put everything else on hold. (Yeah, including this story). So... I'm not sure how long it will take me to write this story, so I want to save the next update that i'm working on today for a good time so it won't seem like you have to wait so long... I know, I'm horrible... But I really need to write this story before it kills me! AHhhhh!

I hope to see you soon! (I hope I hope I hope)

But hey, the more reviews I get, the more motivated I will be to finish my story faster so I can get back to you guys...I hope anyway... ah... just please review...


	14. Chapter 14

I am back. Just before vacation, I am back. BWAHAHAHA..ehem... Sorry it took so long, but i'm still writing that other story. I am also going on vacation tomorrow (well, actually, very verrrry early saturday) for two whole weeks. (and guess what? No internet. whoo...) So after this chapter, please be prepared to wait a bit. But hopefully by the time I get home, I'll have lots (?) more.

and yah know what? since my best friend starting reading this story... oh god, i've never heard the end of it. "So when's the next chapter gonna be up?" and "WHAT'S WRONG WITH DEAN?!" Every. single. time. we. talked. This is for you, mimi, here it is, FINALLY, yah JERK! (haha, i'm just kidding. loveyou)

This chapter...it felt like I was in a trance when i was writing it... Damn, that really doesn't sound good. I hope it's okay...damn i'm worried about it. Please let it be okay.

And just so you know, Popo almost died last chapter, since he only got three reviews. So I had to rush him to the...button doctor. I cried for days. That poor Popo! Maybe if he got twenty reviews this time... LOL, no, I know I'm pushing it.

I STILL don't own Supernatural...NEITHER does Popo!

please enjoy

* * *

True to his word, Dean took Sam to the Laundromat the next afternoon. They had stopped in a town a state or two over, and were staying in a motel until Sam found their next gig.

When Dean and his brother stepped into the Laundromat, they found it completely empty. There was only a sleeping man at the counter in the corner, but otherwise, nothing.

Sam didn't waste any time. He took his clothes and shoved them into a nearby washing machine. He dug into his pocket and took out a huge handful of quarters. He put a few of them in the washing machine and turned it on, and then turned to give Dean some.

Dean stared at him incredulously. "Dude, you look like you raided an arcade."

Sam poured some quarters into his hand. "It's called a change machine, Dean." And with that, he sat down on a bench in front of his washing machine.

Dean set the quarters aside and took his own clothes out of his bag, and stuffed them into the adjacent machine. He was about to close the top, but he realized that there was still something in his bag that he had missed. He dug into the bottom of the bag and drew out a pair of faded jeans.

Dean felt his movements slowing as he got a better look at the jeans. Crimson handprints stained the thighs, where he had wiped off the blood, and the knees were completely soaked through with the same liquid. Dean swallowed hard, recognizing the jeans he had worn the day Emma was killed. It was _her_ blood. _Her_ blood on his jeans. Dean bit down hard on his tongue and threw the jeans into the wash. Once he had fed the machine some quarters and turned it on, he eased into the bench beside Sam.

He might've been completely unaware of how he drifted off into a different world, or how his body didn't seem as sturdy as before, but Sam did.

Sam frowned as he sensed that something was wrong. He glanced to Dean, seeing the distant look in his brother's eyes.

_What's up with that?_ he wondered. He didn't have to answer his own question, because he already knew the answer. He knew his brother was just hiding away again, beneath false smiles and stupid jokes… Dean was hoping that Sam would forget the nightmare so he wouldn't have to talk about it. But last time Sam checked, he didn't have Alzheimer's.

"Dean…," Sam began in a low voice, stealing a quick glance to the snoring man in the corner. "Why are you doing this?"

"Yeah, I wonder why…," Dean answered vaguely, as if he knew Sam was thinking about asking that question. He then frowned and looked at Sam. "Wait. Why am I doing what?"

Sam arched an eyebrow. "What did you _think_ I meant?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't know… What _did_ you mean?"

"I _meant_, why are you acting like you're completely fine when you're obviously not…?" Sam had to bite back the _'again'_.

"What are you talking about, Sam?" Dean demanded, looking completely confused. "Dude, you really need to get some more sleep. I swear, I'm sorry for waking you up early yesterday. If I knew the lack of rest would go to your head, I woulda let you sleep for a month."

"Don't do that!"

"Do _what?"_

Sam glared at him. "Whenever I say something that even _suggests_ that there's something bothering you, you go all Fort Knox on me and blame it on my _nonexistent_ mental problems!"

"Man, you _are_ a psycho." Dean tipped his head to one side and smiled widely. "But it's really cute when you act like you care."

"Don't _do_ that!" Sam repeated. "Stop making stupid jokes! Stop smiling! Stop covering it all up, Dean, 'cause you aren't fooling anyone!"

Dean's smile quickly turned into an irritated frown.

The snoring man in the corner snorted and began to wake up. "Eh?!" he grunted loudly, blinking his eyes open. After fixing his eyes on Sam and Dean, he immediately narrowed them. "Do yah fellows need and 'elp?"

"No sir," Dean replied evenly. "We're just great." To Sam, he whispered, "Not here, Sam."

Sam folded his arms across his chest angrily, but sat back and fell silent.

Dean almost sighed in relief as he thanked the previously snoring man for waking up when he did. But he knew this peace wouldn't last very long.

* * *

The brothers spent the rest of their time in the Laundromat in complete silence. When Dean needed more quarters for the machines, he didn't even need to ask Sam for them. Sam just wordlessly dropped the coins into Dean's hand. Dean had even used some of the quarters to get four gumballs from the gumball machine, and Sam hadn't even complained about it. Why did he get four gumballs when he only really needed one? Well, there were two reasons. One, he only liked the blue kind and it took four tries to get it, and two, for some reason, he liked to watch the gumballs roll down the spiral ramp. When all was said and done, he had his four gumballs. Two white, one purple, and his blue one.

But since he _despised_ the purple ones, he handed it to Sam without a word. Sam loved the purple ones…

Sam looked up in surprise, a question on his face. Maybe he was surprised that Dean remembered what his favorite was. Maybe he was surprised that Dean had even shared at all. Dean didn't know, but Sam took the gumball and popped it in his mouth anyway.

Dean looked down to the remaining three, and put each of them into his mouth. They were huge and rock-hard, but once he chewed them up, they turned into a huge gob of gum. And for a few more minutes, all was well.

But again, Dean knew this wouldn't last.

* * *

And Dean was right.

He and Sam walked back into their motel room, clean laundry in tow. Dean had noticed, dolefully, that the blood in his jeans hadn't washed out very well. Once he set his bag down, Sam, predictably, opened his mouth.

"Hey, Dean, we need to talk."

Dean hid a wince. Not the dreaded words… He feigned calm, though, and replied, "About what, Sam?"

Sam's eyebrow twitched irritably. He was getting sick of Dean playing dumb. "About _you_, Dean."

"Oh, cool. Well, I'm twenty-seven, almost twenty-eight… I like—"

"Dean!" Sam was getting impatient now.

Dean frowned, suddenly seriously. "I'm okay, Sam."

"Okay? Okay?! God, Dean! You haven't been okay this whole time! Ever since you came back, something's been wrong! Hell, even _before_ that!"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You think I haven't noticed?! You're my _brother_, Dean! I know when there's something wrong with you! You haven't been acting like yourself, there's just something _off!_ You barely even eat anymore, and God, did you really think I wouldn't notice _that?!_" Sam was yelling now, but he could care less.

Dean stepped closer to him. "Do you really want to know, Sam? I can't eat! I can't sleep! Do you have any idea why? Because it's kind of hard to keep on _living_ when the two most important people in your life don't need you!"

Sam was silent for a second. "Dean, I swear, you've got to get over that. Me and Dad, we do need you. You're…you're…"

But Dean ignored him. "Sam, I swear, I've tried to eat. I don't even have to think about it… But my body, it just rejects it! It just won't take anything! My body can feel exhausted, I mean, seriously, running for your life for a week, exhausted, and still I can't sleep! I can't control it at all, it just does what it wants!" He clenched his fists hard enough that he could feel his nails biting into his skin. "I don't even know what the reason is anymore! It could be hunting. It could be you and Dad. It could be all this _shit_ that's been going on. It could be _everything_. All I know is that I _hate_ this, and I just want to go back to before all this happened!"

_All that happened,_ Dean repeated in his mind. _What do I mean by that? All that happened with the demon a few months ago? All that happened with me running away? All that happened with Emma? All that happened to us for all these years?_

"Dean…," Sam said, losing his words for a moment. "Dean, we can't go on like this. This isn't working. I swear, I wish that we could go back too, but we can't… And…and, I'm kind of glad that it happened."

Dean tried his best to contain himself. "Sam. You _just said_ that you didn't have mental problems."

"I _don't!_ What I'm trying to say is, at least now I know that for some crazy reason, you think that me and Dad don't need you. That's the only reason you would believe the demon. The _only_ reason is because you believe it too, and don't even try to deny it." He paused, looking seriously into Dean's eyes. "Dean. Me and Dad need you. We _need_ you. God, if you weren't around, I think…I think…" He shook his head. "We couldn't go on without you, man."

_You seemed fine when I was gone before,_ Dean thought before he could stop himself. "Fine, Sam, I get it. I believe you, okay?"

He really wished he did. He really wished he could. He wanted to so much, but there was something inside him that just wouldn't accept that. The words weren't enough somehow. Why? Why was this happening?

"Promise?"

Dean laughed at the gravity in Sam's voice. "Yes, Sammy, I promise." He smiled slightly. "Thanks for saying it." It was nice to hear, even if he didn't believe it completely.

"You're welcome. Now let's go get something to eat."

Dean frowned at him. "Jeez, I'm supposed to be the one who always thinks with his stomach."

"Well we skipped lunch, if you hadn't noticed, so yeah, I'm a little hungry. Do you think you're up to it?"

Dean's frown deepened. Now he regretted telling Sam about his sleeping and eating problem. His brother had officially turned into Nurse Sammy. "Yeah, I think I'll be okay for this one." God, he hoped he'd be okay.

"Okay, but why don't you order something like—"

"If you say 'salad', I swear I'll wring your neck."

"Uhh…order chicken or something. Like…plain…chicken."

Dean stared at his brother for a long time. "You suck, man."

"Shut up."

* * *

With Nurse Sammy, his mother hen and professional nutritionist, Dean got through the meal without projectile vomiting—which, it seemed, was what Sam was expecting. After eating, the brothers returned to their motel room once again.

Dean, full and happy, flopped onto his bed. He hadn't been full in a long time. Maybe it was because Sam was there. He didn't really know, but he was still happy. And since Sam had distracted him all day long, he hadn't thought of much of anything.

He pulled the covers up over himself to keep warm and frowned to himself. Now that he and Sam were going to sleep for the night, there was no one to distract him. And he was restless, again.

_I probably should just take sleeping pills. Ah, like Lunesta, though that whole butterfly thing is pretty gay. What does a butterfly have to do with sleeping anyway? I bet Sam'd know…_, he thought with a yawn. But sleeping pills were out. He didn't like those things at all. Once he was out, he was _out_, meaning if something came in to attack Sam, Dean would probably sleep right through it.

_Just like when a something attacked Emma, and you slept right through it,_ he couldn't stop himself from thinking. His heart pounded twice, _hard_. He could still hear her little voice and see her cheerful face…

Dean unconsciously gripped his shoulder. It was mostly healed now; all that was left were a few four big scabs. They'd turn into nice scars.

Dean almost smiled. That's what John would always say when he or Sam got torn up.

"_They'll turn into nice scars."_

It was back when he and Sam were young, and scars were cool things to have—after they were done hurting. As they grew up though, the "they'll turn into nice scars" turned into "well, that'll make a good story."

Dean's mind came back to the present. Those scars wouldn't turn out nice. And they wouldn't make a good story. The only thing they would do was remind him of the mistake he had made. He could never tell Sam how badly he felt about it, because he knew his brother would try to fix it. It couldn't be fixed. Dean didn't think he'd ever be able to forgive himself. And…

He was so afraid that it'd happen again.

He was so afraid that one day, he'd fail to protect Sam.

Sam…if he ever died…

Dean knew he'd never be able to forgive himself. He knew he wouldn't be able to handle it. He couldn't stand to lose Sam. He couldn't let Sam get hurt. That's why he had to work harder to protect him…

Dean let out a huge yawn. _I'm sure…Sam'll…be okay. I…I won't fail him… _And he began to drift off to sleep.

But right before he fell asleep, he felt something twisting in his gut, and he got this feeling… He got this terrible feeling that something was going to challenge that promise he had just made.

* * *

OMG that sounds so ominous!

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE review or I won't have any motivation whatsoever. And Popo will have to go back to the hospital...

I...love the gumball scene... I wrote it and knew it was pretty pointless... But I loved it... And so I didn't take it out...

Yeah just a random note.

Please review !


	15. Chapter 15

Hey, everyone! Man, I'm finally back. I got back from vacation a little more than a week ago. Believe me, there is a very good reason why it took me a week to update. I actually had written this chapter a few days ago. I was indeed planning on posting it a few days ago. But a series of things started to happen to me. Okay. The first night I had a HORRIBLE horrible headache, so I didn't rewrite my chapter like I wanted. I thought to myself, "I wonder if it's like a Sammy-gonna-have-a-vision-headache" And if that were true, then me and my best friend are going to go on the world's biggest moonbounce. (that's the dream I had that night)

then the next day, I had left my computer on for a little while and went away for like, an hour. And then, when I came back, SOMEONE had been on it. So I opened up the recent documents. And it said that SOMEONE opened a LOT of my stories. Someone in my family, though no one has confessed. I kinda went crazy. Because seriously, I don't know about you, but I don't want people reading my stories without my permission. My mom got mad at me because I was so upset over it. But I was so upset that I couldn't even look at anything I was writing.

Then the next day, I was at a concert all day long. And THEN, finally, the day after that, I rewrote this chapter. And now, today, I come with a chapter for you all! I'm sorry for rambling!

I don't own Supernatural! And by the way, I don't own Lunesta! (from last chapter!) And I don't own Wheat Thins! But I wish I did because I really want to have some! I don't own ANYTHING!

BTW, very important news about this story is going to be at the end of this chapter...

please enjoy...mwhaha... ??

* * *

Dean had thought that it would make it better when he had told Sam what was going on with him. He thought that it might bring a little peace. But it only made it worse.

Every single time they sat down to eat, it was the same thing. Sam would ask if he felt like eating. Sometimes he replied yes, sometimes he said that he'd rather not. When the latter occurred, Sam would get this _look_ on his face. Dean wasn't sure how to describe it. It wasn't disgust or hurt. Maybe it was something close to disappointed. He wasn't really sure.

Then Sam would push Dean's plate closer. _"I need you,"_ he'd say, _"so please eat._" And then he'd give Dean a puppy-eyed look until Dean gave up. So Dean ate. He even managed to keep it down most of the time. Sometimes he would say he was hungry just so Sam would treat him a little more _normally._

Because he hated the _"I need you"_ line. It almost felt like Sam was throwing those words around just to make Dean eat—not truly meaning them.

That had been going on for nearly a week now. Sam was happy that Dean was actually eating more, and didn't look as skinny as he had before. Dean had even been able to get to sleep a little easier.

When Dean woke up that morning, he stretched tiredly and glanced around, wondering where Sam was. Surprisingly, Sam was still in bed. Dean looked at the clock. It was a little past noon.

Dean frowned. "Sammy?"

Sam turned over in bed to face his brother. "Hmm?" he grunted.

"You okay? It's past noon, man."

"I've got…a _wicked_ bad headache." As he was saying these words, Sam winced in pain. He really didn't look very good.

"Like, you're gonna have a vision kind of headache?" Dean asked, softer this time.

Sam's voice grew softer too. "I don't know… It's been an hour or two, so I don't _think_ so."

Dean glared at him. "If it's been _an hour or two_, you should've just woken me up! I'd at least get you some ibuprofen or something!"

"You were _sleeping_, Dean… I didn't want to wake you up because you need all the rest you can get…"

Dean hopped out of bed and began to pull on a pair of jeans. "Screw needing rest, Sammy," he said in exasperation. After pulling on his boots, he returned to his brother's side. "Is there anything else other than the headache? Do you think you're coming down with something?"

Sam licked his lips and shook his head. "I don't think so."

Dean rolled his eyes. He didn't _think_ so. That meant that there probably _was_ something else, but Sam wasn't telling him. "I swear to God, Sam…," he muttered under his breath, before touching the back of his hand to Sam's forehead. "You're kinda warm," Dean informed him. "You could be getting a fever."

Sam swallowed. "Nah, I'm fine."

Dean frowned, but let Sam run with it for now. "I'm gonna run out and get you some medicine… Do you want anything else? Something to eat? A porno mag?"

Sam closed his eyes. "Some of those Wheat Thin things would be nice."

"What kind?"

"What _kind?_" Sam repeated, his voice weak but incredulous.

"You know there's like, _twenty_ kinds of those things. Don't you remember last time? _'What the hell are these, Dean?! I don't want __low sodium__! Ugh, these things are gross!_'" Dean imitated.

Sam, keeping his eyes closed, glared at his brother. "I never said any of that. And I _like_ the reduced fat ones."

"Oh right, because you _really_ need to lose weight," Dean remarked sarcastically. "Okay, fine, I'll get those." He pulled on his jacket. "You stay right where you are. If I come back and you're not in the _exact same position,_ I'll friggin' kill you."

Sam smiled. "Okay."

Dean hesitated for a minute, glancing at Sam worriedly. But he shook it off and nodded. "Okay. I'll be back." And with that, he left.

* * *

Sam lifted his pillow and put it on top of his head, hoping to relieve the pain. Okay, so maybe he hadn't been one hundred percent honest with Dean.

He had told the truth, he didn't think that the headache meant that he'd have a vision. But the main reason that he thought that was because he had already had a vision that morning.

It had come suddenly, stirring him from his sleep and showing him images that he didn't completely understand. He had been inside some…old abandoned building or something. That was the first strange thing. He was _himself _in his vision, not some onlooker like usual. The only other time that had happened was when he had that vision of Dean all those months ago.

He couldn't see much other than one, graffiti-covered wall. But he heard voices.

"I don't see why we have to do this. There are a million other ways. _Easier_ ways." It was a very deep, male voice.

There was a sigh. "I've told you this a hundred times. You obviously don't know everything about what we're doing here. There's a _reason_ for this, okay? But if it helps, think about it this way: We're old. He's _way_ older than we are. Will it kill you to _amuse_ the poor bastard?" This other voice was a woman's.

The man grunted. "I'm just saying…"

"Well _don't_. If he finds out that you're an _idiot_, he might just—"

The woman was interrupted by a loud noise, and Sam could hear footsteps approaching him.

"It won't be very long now," came the satisfied voice of another deep-voiced male.

And before Sam could even begin to wonder who the newcomer was, his vision ended abruptly. And just as he was beginning to recover from the first vision, he had been struck with another one. He saw a different graffiti-covered wall, and a long, dirty window. But this time, he could also see two people on their knees, hunched over something Sam couldn't see. One of the people was a huge, monster of a man, and the other was a slender, raven-haired woman. Sam assumed that these were the people who had been talking in his previous vision. These two people were doing something… But even when Sam squinted, he couldn't tell what. He could only guess that they were hunched over something…or someone. But he couldn't tell. The two people completely obstructed his view.

The woman looked over her shoulder to Sam. Her hands were coated in thick blood that slowly dripped from her fingertips. Her face twisted into a cruel smile. "I think I'll take his heart."

For a brief moment, Sam thought she was talking about his heart, but she turned back to the person Sam couldn't see. Sam could hear sick cracking noises as she ripped open the ribcage of said person.

Sam choked back his breakfast—or whatever he had in his stomach at the time. What the hell was going on?

The big man moved out of the way, and Sam could finally see who the person was. He watched as the woman wrenched the heart out.

Sam's stomach lurched, and his own heart seemed to stop completely.

Lying there, with his chest ripped open and his face contorted in pain, was Dean.

And then Sam had woken up—screaming. He had instinctively whirled around to make sure Dean was still there—he was. He hadn't even woken up. He only frowned in his sleep, muttered a little, and turned over.

Sam wiped the sweat from his brow, and a horrible headache set in. He felt sick. When Dean woke up two hours later, he couldn't even bring himself to tell him about his vision. He just couldn't get the words out.

Sam pushed himself out of bed, ignoring his pounding headache and sore muscles. He had to do _something_. He had to do something right now. But Dean wasn't there, so he couldn't tell him personally. So Sam did the very first thing that came to mind. He grabbed a pen and a piece of paper from the desk across the room and began to scrawl madly.

_Dean, I had a vision. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. If something bad happens, I'm in some kind of old, abandoned building. There's lots of graffiti in it. If something really bad does happen, don't come looking for me alone. Bring help. Lots of help. Don't go in alone. Just_

Sam stopped writing. "I'm an idiot," he muttered to himself, crumpling up the paper and throwing it aside. "I'll just call him and tell him like a normal person." He shook his head and snatched his cell phone from the nightstand beside his bed and dialed Dean's number.

It rang once. Then twice.

"Come on, Dean…," Sam said anxiously.

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

Sam looked up at the noise and hung up. He carefully walked over to the door. "Who is it?"

A familiar deep voice answered him. "Room service."

* * *

Meanwhile, Dean walked into a convenience store just ten minutes away from the motel. He then went to search for the items he needed. He was lucky enough to grab the very last box of reduced fat Wheat Thins. While he was picking up the box, his cell phone began to ring.

He patted the pockets in his jeans, but found nothing. Where had he put that thing again? Oh, right. He dug into his jacket pocket and took the phone out. Just as he was about to answer it, it fell silent. He flipped it open anyway, seeing that he had missed a call from Sam.

"What the hell, Sam," he grumbled. Sam probably wanted to remind him that he wanted _reduced fat_ Wheat Thins, or something of the sort, but realized that Dean already _knew_ that. Sam could get pretty crazy when he was sick, so it sounded exactly like something he would do. In fact, Sam _had_ done that a few times before. Once, when Sam had a fever, Dean went out to get him lunch. Sam said that he had wanted chicken. When Dean was five minutes out the door, Sam called him, telling him that he wanted chicken.

"_I know that, Sammy! You __just__ told me that!_" he had said, irritably.

"_Did I?" _There was a long silence on Sam's end. _"Oh… Oops, sorry, Dean. Oh, and by the way, I want chicken, okay?"_

Dean shook his head at the memory before going to pick out medicine. Hopefully he'd get the stuff that would knock his brother out until he got better. After grabbing some medicine, Dean wondered if Sam would need anything else. He guessed that if Sam needed anything else, he'd just have to run out again. That was fine.

Dean then made his way to the front desk, briefly hesitating to pick up some peanut M&Ms. Maybe if he ate them in front of Sam, his brother wouldn't be on his case about eating.

"How are you doing?" the cashier asked when Dean put his items on the counter.

"Just fine," Dean answered vaguely as he reached for his cash.

The cashier scanned the Wheat Thins before looking up, staring Dean straight in the eyes. "I see you're buying medicine. I'm guessing it's not for you. You taking care of someone?"

Dean wasn't sure if this was normal employee-customer talk, but answered, "Uh, yeah."

"Hm. You're not doing a very good job at it, are you?"

Dean frowned. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It's 'your job' to protect Sammy. I'm just saying that you're not doing a very good job at it. Boy oh boy is John going to tear you apart."

Dean stopped breathing as a shudder blew its way up his spine. "What did you do to Sam?!"

The cashier smiled at him and his eyes turned yellow. "Oh, Sammy is safe, I promise."

Dean sucked in a quick breath, remembering that he needed to breathe. He knew it had to be a demon that that point, but he didn't really expect it to be _the_ demon, right there, in front of him. He went for his gun—he didn't care if it couldn't kill the demon. He just really wanted to shoot a couple of rounds into its skull. But unfortunately, he hadn't brought any weapons with him. He remembered thinking that Sam needed medicine _now_, and what evil thing could he possibly meet in a convenience store?

Well, apparently he could meet the yellow-eyed demon in a convenience store.

The demon's smile grew. "Well, well, Dean, I haven't seen _you_ in a good long time. You look better than the last time I saw you."

Dean glared at him. "Where. The hell. Is Sam?"

"I could tell you, but I don't want you to find him just yet." The possessed cashier rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Though I'm sure you'll find him soon enough." He paused, sensing all the thoughts that flew past Dean's mind. One thought stuck out from all the rest. "I just told you," the demon said. "Sam is fine. He doesn't _need_ you worrying over him."

Dean set his jaw.

The demon smiled once more. Dean's buttons were easily pushed, if one knew which ones hurt the most. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you soon." Once the words had been said, the demon vacated the cashier's body in a swirl of black smoke.

Dean could do little more than watch. He only wondered if any of the security cameras had caught _that_ on tape. Probably not, he concluded. The demon was too smart for something like that.

A moment later, the cashier blinked his eyes slowly. "Wh-what happened…?"

* * *

Dean strode back into the motel, right up to the front desk. "Have you seen my brother?" he asked the woman standing there.

The woman gave him a look. "I don't _know_ your brother."

"Real tall, crazy mop hair…"

"Oh, him… He passed by here with two others just ten minutes ago or so. He looked really sick. Probably shouldn't be out running around."

Dean ran a hand through his hair and forced himself to take a deep breath. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Did they say where they were going?"

"No."

"Did you _see_ which way they went?"

The woman shrugged. "I dunno."

Dean stared at her for a long time. She _really _was not very helpful. So he just turned and left, returning to the motel room where Sam _should've_ been, and slammed the door behind him.

"Damn it!" he swore loudly. How could he have let this happen? The demon was right, his father _was_ going to tear him apart for this.

He slammed a fist into the wall. He should've brought Sam with him. He should've done _something_ to protect him. That's all he had to do, and he failed. If Dad was here right now…

Dean walked over to Sam's bed. Maybe there was some kind of sign… Some kind of _something_ that would help him. Before he could reach the bed, though, he stepped on a wad of something. He looked down, finding a crumbled ball of paper. Just trash, maybe, but Dean felt himself picking it up and straightening it out. There were indeed words written on that piece of paper.

_Dean, I had a vision. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. If something bad happens, I'm in some kind of old, abandoned building. There's lots of graffiti in it. If something really bad does happen, don't come looking for me alone. Bring help. Lots of help. Don't go in alone. Just_

Dean flipped the paper over, but it was blank. _What the hell?_ he thought. _Just what?_ He read the note again. So Sam _did_ have a vision.

Dean rubbed his forehead. Maybe if he had _known_ about that vision… Why hadn't Sam told him about it? He shook his head. That didn't matter right now. Sam's note said something about an old, abandoned building. But Dean was certain that there would be more than one old building with graffiti in town. And what if Sam had been taken _out_ of town? What then?

_Then I'll go out of town too. I'll search every goddamn building in the world until I find him. And __then__, I'm gonna __slaughter__ the sons of bitches who took him away._

* * *

ahhh! In my document manager, i entitled this chapter "zOMG, Sammy got Samnapped!"

Oh, and to all those who like the gumball scene last chapter. Thanks alot! When I was on vacation, I went to the laundromat that I semi-based the one Sam and Dean went to, and of course, there was a gumball machine (that's why I wrote the gumball scene, because I remember there being a gumball machine in the laundromat I went to) So I tried to get a blue, purple, or even a white gumball out of the machine. I tried THREE TIMES. and my brother tried TWICE. I got pink, orange, and green. My brother got yellow twice. WHAT?! We got like, every color OTHER than the ones I wanted! I even have a video of me getting the pink one and the green one. It's kinda sad.

Anyway... I think... this is important, everyone... I think Escape is entering its last story arc here. !! I think there's only going to be a few more chapters after this one. Three more chapters at the very least (I think). (It's very possible that there'll be more than three, but I'm not sure how many) So please, if there are any loose ends that you'd like to see tied off that I may have forgotten about, please review and tell me.

So please review. I'm almost done with another chapter. MAYBE if I get enough reviews, you'll see that chapter before this Thursday. But if not, I probably just won't be motivated. I'd love it if everyone who reads this chapter leaves a review. That would really make me very happy.

I think that's about it. Sorry for the long author's notes. If FFN had a blog area for the writers, I'd totally use that instead. Lol. I just tend to ramble a lot. In my blog on myspace, I'm always rambling on about what I'm writing (even though no one reads my blogs...)

Oh. PS - I always picture Fredric Lehne as the demon. I swear, that guy rocks. Lol.


	16. Chapter 16

First and foremost -- I am SO SO sorry that it took so long to update! I actually had most of this chapter done, but then my computer crapped out on me and for a while I thought I was going to lose all my data. Luckily I was able to resolve the problem (after the longest month of my life), and I eventually finished this chapter just a few days ago.

I mentioned in the last chapter that when I went on vacation, I went to the laundromat that I kind of based the one in this story on and tried to get the right colored gumball. Well, I just got back from vacation (we go to the same place every year) and I DID try to get the right colored gumball again. (Right colors being 1: Blue for Dean, 2: Purple for Sammy, 3: White for the crap that Dean got while he was trying to get blue) I tried FIVE TIMES. I got GREEN, YELLOW, and THREE WHITES. At least I got white, but I can't believe that for the second year in a row, I didn't get blue or purple! I'll have to wait until next year... (Because I have to use THAT gumball machine in THAT laudromat, apparently...)

Well, enough rambling. Thank you for being so patient!

I don't own Supernatural, dammit.

* * *

The first thing he did, though, was did out his phone. He needed to call his father. He knew that John would probably hate him for losing Sam, but he also knew that John would _kill_ him if he didn't tell him about the demon.

Dean dialed his father's number, and then waited impatiently. _I swear to God, if I get his __frickin'__ voicemail, I'll—_

Dean's thoughts were cut off by his father's voice.

"Hello?"

Dean inwardly let out a sigh in relief. "Dad, it's Dean."

Even those few words completely gave him away. "Dean? What's wrong? Is everything okay?"

Dean sank down onto his bed, running a hand though his hair. "Dad… I'm really sorry, Dad." He squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly wishing that he _had _gotten John's voicemail.

John was quiet for a moment, a short breath coming through the phone in a burst of static. "Where's Sam, Dean?"

Dean felt sick to his stomach. It was almost as if John knew that this was going to happen. "This morning he felt sick, so I went out to get him some medicine. And, Dad, if I had known, I'd… I was only gone for a minute, and I…" Dean shook his head to himself. He couldn't even explain. He took a deep breath. "Dad, it was the demon. He took Sam."

This time John was silent for a long time. "Do you know where they are right now?" Something in his voice had changed. Now it was deeper, more serious…edging on icy. Dean wasn't sure if it was because it was _the_ demon or because it was Dean's fault that the demon had Sam.

_Probably both._

"There was this note or something that Sam had tried to write. He said…" Dean trailed off for a second. "It said he had a vision this morning. He didn't want to tell me about it, I guess. He said that he was being kept in some old building with a lot of graffiti in it."

Dean could practically hear John thinking right then.

"Where are _you?_"

Dean told him.

"Okay. I'm a while away, but I'm on my way now. I'll probably be there tomorrow morning. Don't you move."

"Dad! I can't just _sit_ here while Sam…Sammy…" Dean clenched his fists. This was it. He had failed Sam. He had failed his father. This couldn't be real… "Dad…I can't do that… You _know _I can't do that."

"Dean, listen to me! Don't you_ dare_—"

Dean bit his tongue hard, hanging up before John could finish his sentence. He knew his father was just about to order him to stay put, and he knew that if he had heard that order, he might follow it. He _couldn't_ just sit around. He took a deep breath, standing once more.

_I can't wait for Dad to come. Sammy needs me __now__._

He surprised himself with his own thoughts. _Sammy needs…_

Dean shook his head. He couldn't think about that right now. He quickly left his room and went back to the front desk. The previously unhelpful woman was still there. He planted both hands on her desk and stared her straight in the eye. "Listen. Do you know about any abandoned buildings around here?"

She stared at him dumbly. "What?"

"_Abandoned buildings,"_ Dean repeated impatiently. "You know, the ones with nothing inside them?!"

"But why would you—"

"Can you just help me out here!?"

The woman stared at him for a moment, taking in his fierce eyes before saying, "There are two abandoned warehouses on the outskirts of town. Oh, and there are three…oh, wait, only two old apartment buildings. One of them got torn down just last week."

Dean rubbed his forehead. At least there weren't a lot of places to search, but still… "Do any of them have lots of graffiti?"

The woman frowned at him. "You're not thinking of _vandalizing_ any of these buildings, are you?" She looked him up and down. He really _did _look suspicious, just like she had thought before. Trouble waiting to happen, that's what he was.

"No!" he said, in exasperation. "My…my uh, brother, you know, the one I was asking you about earlier…"

She nodded. "What about him?"

Dean took a deep breath. "He's so much trouble. Everywhere we go, he insists on vandalizing everything."

"That's…"

"He's already been warned several times, but it's kind of like an addiction for him. See, I'm supposed to protect him… I mean, I need to keep him from doing these kinds of things so he can overcome this. So I need to know where he might go, you see?"

"Oh, I see. Well, the two apartment buildings are locked up tight… And they're in very public areas. I doubt he would go to either of those places in the middle of the day."

"And the warehouses?"

The woman shrugged. "As far as I know, they're empty. Way out in the middle of nowhere."

Dean nodded. "Okay, okay, where are these places?"

"Well, they're pretty far apart, but…" She grabbed a piece of paper. "I can write some directions for you."

"Yeah, by the way, sometime tomorrow, I think, another guy is going to come in here."

The woman looked up suspiciously.

"My father," Dean explained quickly. "He's coming to help me with his brother. If I don't come back before he gets here, I need you to give him directions to these places too, okay?"

"What's this guy look like?"

"Dark hair, dark eyes, beard. He'll probably ask for my room number. You can let him go back if I'm not back by then. But you really need to tell him what I said first, okay? It's very important."

The woman sighed. "Okay, okay." She handed him a slip of paper. "Good luck finding your brother."

Dean nodded his thanks before striding out the door, his mind only on one thing.

_Don't worry, Sammy, I'll find you._

* * *

Sam blinked open his eyes to see a painfully familiar wall marked with graffiti.

The two demons from his vision had barged into the motel room, promptly overpowering Sam before he even had the chance to fight. They had knocked him out sometime during their ride, and now Sam was right where his vision said he would be, bound so tightly that he could hardly move.

_And hot as all hell because of the fever,_ he thought to himself. _God hates me. Why else would all this happen?_

Sam blinked a few more times, trying to clear his cloudy head. He could hear the two demons talking. It was the same exact conversation from his vision. If he hadn't been able to change anything from his first vision, then did that mean that his second one would come true too? He couldn't let Dean die… There had to be something he could do to stop it, but what?

"It won't be long now," said the voice Sam had also heard from his vision. The man who owned the voice knelt beside Sam. "Well, well, well, if it isn't my favorite little psychic boy."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "You're…you the demon, aren't you?"

The man smiled in amusement, his eyes revealing his true identity. "Well aren't you a smart one. Dean didn't even know who I was until I showed him."

"What did you do to him?!" Sam demanded. The energy that he forced into those words left his ill body drained, but he stared at the demon with flashing eyes, trying to ignore it.

"Hmph. You two are so alike," the demon remarked. "I didn't do anything to him, Sammy. We'll leave that for later."

The image of his brother with his chest torn open flashed across Sam's mind, sending shocks of panic through his system.

The demon nodded, reading him perfectly. "Yes. You know just as well as I do that Dean will be rushing in here sometime soon. Don't need to be psychic to figure that one out."

Sam struggled against his bonds. "If you do anything to him…"

The demon's eyes glittered. "You'll what? Come on, Sammy, tell me. What could you possibly do to me? I don't think that foreseeing my future will harm me. You're going to have to reach a lot deeper to find a power strong enough to go against _me_."

Sam glared, refusing to feel helpless. "What do you _want_ with me?!"

The demon gave him a wide, all-knowing smile. "Anyway," he continued, pretending that he hadn't heard one word from Sam's mouth. "Dean seemed awfully worried about you. His whole like seems to revolve around worrying about you, huh?"

Sam turned from his gaze, his glare deepening. "That's not true."

"He'd probably be better of if you hadn't been born. Because, you know, if it weren't for you, your mother wouldn't have died. Which means none of this would have ever happened. Dean would have lived a normal life with Mommy and Daddy."

Sam remained silent. It was all true.

"Which also means that Dean wouldn't have gone through all the things he did these past few months."

"That was _your_ fault," Sam hissed.

The demon shrugged. "Details. But again, it can all be traced back to _you. _I can betcha that Dean would be a lot happier if you weren't around—why did he run away from you in the first place? You've condemned him to a miserable life of hunting. All he's ever going to know is pain and death, and he knows that you're the one to blame for it."

Sam took a deep breath. Everything bad that had happened to his family—it was all his fault. Just because he had been born. Sam felt the fever's fire rushing through him, making his head swim. He tried to fight it—he couldn't get sick, not now. When he got sick, he tended to get a little delirious. And he needed to have all his wits if he wanted to get out of here.

"He _is_ going to come here, eventually," the demon went on. "And I'll make sure he regrets it."

Sam could barely register what the demon was saying—he was so _tired,_ he needed to close his eyes.

The demon smiled to himself. "It's a beautiful day. I love it when a plan comes together neatly. Now all we have to wait for is D…"

Sam only heard bits and pieces of the demon's sentence after that. Moments later, he had completely drifted off.

* * *

It was late at night when Dean reached the second warehouse. The first one was completely empty—well, actually, not _completely _empty. There were a few homeless people who had, unfortunately, given Dean some trouble. But no Sam.

Once Dean had realized that, he glared to himself and clenched his fists. He had just wasted a lot of time. A lot of time that could have been used to hurt Sam. If the demon did anything to him…

Dean shook his head, ridding it of the thought. He needed to be able to think clearly if he was going to save Sam. He carefully made his way to a window, hoping to see Sam through it. The window was grimy, so he tried to wipe away the dirt with the sleeve of his jacket.

But even after a minute of scrubbing, Dean couldn't see through the glass.

_Great_, he thought. _Double-sided grime._ That meant that he'd be walking in blind. It wasn't something he liked to do.

_But Sam's in there,_ he told himself. _So it doesn't matter if I walk in blind. The demon is expecting me, anyway. So what if I give up the element of surprise?_

_But for all you know, there could be a hundred other demons in there, _the reasonable part of his mind reminded him.

_Screw it, you're wasting time,_ the reckless part of him was screaming.

For a moment, he weighed his choices. What else could he really do other than barge in there?

"Oh, well it seems we have a visitor."

Dean whirled at the noise, his eyes meeting those of a curvy, raven-haired woman. If it weren't for the demon possessing her, he might have thought that she was hot.

"Where the hell is my brother?" Dean demanded, in a low, threatening voice. He casually reached for his holy water.

But she noticed this small gesture and snarled angrily. She sped towards him with inhuman speed and picked him right off his feet, throwing him through the window with a magnificent _crash!_

Dean landed hard on the filthy glass and felt pain slicing into his back. He suddenly wished he had worn his leather jacket—it surely would have protected him from the glass. He swore under his breath. Glass was in his hands, too, where he had unconsciously tried to soften his fall.

The woman stepped through the window with feline-like grace. "You must be Dean Winchester." She crouched beside him and smiled. "We've been expecting you…" She gave him a long look before grasping his hand. "You have beautiful blood," she whispered as she plucked a large piece of glass from his palm.

Dean snatched his hand back, quickly removing any other protruding glass shards—he knew they'd get in his way later. He then shot a dark look at the demon. "Where. Is my. Brother?"

The woman's eyes drifted upwards. "Next floor up." She took a long knife from the sheath at her ankle. "Come on, I'll take you to him."

Dean stood, glancing around discreetly, looking for his holy water. Of course, it had to be across the room, unreachable. And his gun certainly wouldn't do any good. _How exactly did I plan on saving Sam again? Oh, right…_

Dean cleared his throat. "_Regna terrae, cantate Deo—"_

The demon snarled again, wasting no time to cut Dean's words off by burying her knife into his thigh.

Dean fell to one knee, biting back curses and a shout of pain. _Well there goes my perfectly flawless plan, _he thought bitterly. _How exactly did I think that this was going to work again? Oh, right… I thought that the demons might just be paralyzed with fear or pain or whatever. Guess that doesn't happen until later in the exorcism. Of course I know that. I was just depending on luck. That's the problem right there. What was I thinking, depending on __my__ wonderful luck? Stupid._

The demon pulled her knife from Dean's leg. "Now, you're going to come with me."

Dean's mind was racing as he stared at his wounded leg, the blood already making a dark spot on his jeans. "And maybe I don't want to."

The demon laughed in amusement and grabbed Dean's shoulder, easily lifting him to his feet. "I don't think you have a choice in the matter."

She led him to the stairs, and every single one creaked as they stepped on them.

_I guess my surprise attack wouldn't have worked either way, _Dean thought, while trying to ignore the shoots of pain with every step.

When they reached the second floor, the first thing Dean did was find Sam, and run over to his brother's crumbled and bound body. He didn't look around to see how many demons there were—at this point he didn't really care. Sam's body was so still, his face so pale, it almost looked as if he were…

Dean shook Sam's shoulder. "Sammy, wake up."

But Sam's eyes remained closed.

"_Sam_," Dean warned. "Open your eyes." He laid a hand on Sam's sweaty forehead. "Shit, you're burning up. I've got to get you out of here…"

Once again, Sam didn't respond.

"You gotta wake up, man. I can't just—"

Before he could even finish his sentence, Dean was kicked in the gut and was sent skidding across the room. It hurt like hell because of all the glass he knew was lodged in his back. His world went black for a second, and the next thing he knew, he was staring up at a large, muscular man.

"No talking with the special guest," the man, obviously another demon, rumbled.

Dean sat up and took a quick look around. Other than him and Sam and the two demons, Dean didn't see anyone else in the room. The yellow-eyed demon seemed to be absent.

His eyes shot to Sam. _Now how am I gonna…?_

The female demon was suddenly crouched beside him. "Don't move."

Dean smirked at her. "And what are _you_ going to do if I do?"

She smiled at him, almost sweetly. Then she shoved him to the ground so hard that his head smacked painfully into the floor and stabbed her knife into his hand. It went straight through and into the floor, forcing shouts of pain from Dean. She pushed it deeper and deeper until it could go no further. "Don't move," she repeated, before turning away.

Dean took a few deep breaths, the pain in his leg now forgotten as he tried to block out the pain in his hand. Just looking at the knife buried to the hilt in his hand and the floor beneath him, blood already oozing—what could he say? It really wasn't helping him ignore the pain.

_Fuck,_ Dean swore to himself. _What the hell am I supposed to do now?_

* * *

GAH! After three years, will I finally be able to finish this story?!? I'm such a lazy bum!

Another quick random story. There's this hair salon called "Fantastic Sams"... HA, I love that place because I think of Sam Winchester (of course.) AND their motto is "Gotta be the hair" (And of course I think of Sam's hair.) Haha, sigh......

Well, anyway, I'd greatly appreciate if I got lots and lots of reviews! I'll try my hardest to get this thing finished!


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